On the benefits of a teaching career

Here's the precocious Zazie on Dave's noble profession:

“Personally,” declared Zazie, “I want to go to school until I’m 65.”

“Until you’re 65?” repeated Gabriel, just a teensy bit surprised.

“Yes,” said Zazie, “I want to be a teacher.”

“That’s not a bad trade,” said Marceline gently. “There’s the pension.”

“Pension my arse,” said Zazie. “Tisn’t for the pension that I want to be a teacher.”

“Well? Why do you want to be a teacher?”

“To bitch up the brats,” replied Zazie. “The ones who’ll be my age in ten years, in twenty years, in fifty years, in a hundred years, in a thousand years, always to have kids to beat the hell out of.”

“Well,” said Gabriel.

“I’ll be an absolute bastard to them. I’ll make them lick the floor. I’ll make them eat the blackboard wiper. I’ll stick compasses in their behinds. I’ll kick their bottoms with my boots. Because I shall wear boots. In the winter. Right up to here (gesture). With great big spurs to pepper their bots with.”

“You know,” said Gabriel calmly, “if you go by what the papers say, that isn’t at all the direction in which modern education is orientated. It’s even quite the opposite. The tendency is more towards gentleness, understanding, kindness.”

Zazie envisaged this future for a moment.

“Well then,” she declared, “I shall be a space-traveller.”

“Aha,” said Gabriel with approval. “Aha, have to move with the times.”

“Yes,” continued Zazie, “I’ll be a space-traveller and go bitch up the Martians.”