The Jambalaya School Newsletter Titelbild

The Jambalaya School Newsletter

The Jambalaya School Newsletter

Von: The Impotent Satyr
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 Jambalaya Grade School is exactly how you remember life at your own school—the school mascot died sort of tragically, and then so did the next mascot, and the next; 4th grade recess devolved into a gang war, fulfilling an ancient prophecy etched into the bottom of the playground slide; the kindergarten classroom caught fire, marking the 8th year-in-a-row—the usual stuff you repressed from your chilhood. We sure get some wacky sponsors, too. Oh, and the Vice Principal plays a parody song each episode! Believe me, you've never listened to a podcast like this.Copyright The Impotent Satyr Kunst Unterhaltung & Darstellende Künste
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  • 20| Strawberry Vanilla Suppositories Are In Right Now

    20| Strawberry Vanilla Suppositories Are In Right Now
    Dec 29 2025
    Sugar-ridden students make for the most energetic mascots. For the first time in a LONG TIME, high-fiving Principal Fendleton is OPTIONAL. Remember, kids, don't ingest unlabeled pills unless they're from a school vending machine. There are no urine stains in my office, and that makes me very uneasy and concerned. Ricky Frampton built a racist lawn chair. Fun Fact: Our newest teacher, Dr Personold, wears a cologne that smells like Play-Doh. At least, I assume it's cologne. Security chimeras? More like [punny one-liner that is also an insulting slight]. Thank you to ()hole Milk and Shart Through the Heart for sponsoring. Music for this episode was performed by Joshua Morgan. You can find more of his work at joshuamorganmusic.bandcamp.com This month's parody song is Gold Rush of '49. Lyrics: I got my first steel pick axe, with a wooden handle whittled from pine. Mined until my hands were numb. Twas the gold rush of '49. Me and the boys went west. Got a wagon and packed it tight. Turns out, the compass was broken. The only gold we found was pyrite. Oh, now when I recollect to times when I was chased by beavers. Runnin' from a wild fire. I fished for trout and caught a fever. Those were the worst days of my life. Me and the boys were trailblazin', fighting dysentery and raccoons. Did some trading with a jolly snake oil salesman. Those elixirs were just jars of poo. Sneaking onto private land. Mining rocks and finding more rocks. A boulder fell and crushed my hand. Gangrene set in then I got chickenpox. Those were the worst days of my life. Oh no. Back in the gold rush of '49. Panning for gold all week. Wading in the river until our groins turned green. Penicillin was not dicovered. No, noooo. And now my life is collapsing. Like that gold mine, it all came down. Dynamite, it took my hearing. And some fingers and toes are gone. Stranded without a torch. Lost my way and fell in a river. With leeches sucking on my hand, I gave them names and thought my life was over. Those were the worst days of my life. Oh nooo. At least those leaches kept me company. It was the hell hole of 49. Oh no. My wife, she left me in '49, '49 oh noo.

    Please share this with anyone that you think may enjoy it. I don't know where to find my audience! :|
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    31 Min.
  • 19| Security Chimeras Are Watching Us All

    19| Security Chimeras Are Watching Us All
    Nov 22 2025
    The security chimeras protect us all from the dangerous effects of graffiti. New lore just dropped disguised as a story about Traumanonymous. Students, you're not pirates and, as such, our janitors will be sanitizing your salty language. Let's give a hand to Kids With Crocs and welcome back our old school mascot! The horticulture class will be planting trees yesterday. No, secret hatch was not found in the Mascots' Lounge. Thank you to our sponsors The Seemetery and What to Expect When You're Expecto-Patronuming. The music for this episode was performed by Chelicerae. You can find more of their music at chelicerae.bandcamp.com
    Purchasing Chelicerae's latest EP, Repulsion, sends all profits to a Gazan in need. If you wish to support Amjad directly CLICK HERE. This Vice Principal Mr Jonesandmi played Trombones, a parody of Them Bones by Alice in Chains. Lyrics: Why? Why? Why? Symphony, trombone they need. Complain, "What else is there to play?" Denied piano, they're sending me to the mouth breathers with trombones. Why? Why? Why? Lips dry, valve opens and spit flies. Can't beat the snare or timpani. No go xylophone, they're throwing me to the brassholes blowing trombones. Tuba, no room, no luck. I cry, "Guitar would be so nice." Don't need saxophone—gonna be forced to interact with gross- Can't blow piccolo—gonna blow chunks in bass clef with bozos. No spot for oboe—the woodwinds tell me, "Shut up, play your trombone."

    Please share this with anyone that you think may enjoy it. I don't know where to find my audience! :|
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    22 Min.
  • 18| Unmarked Windowless Vans Contain Candy

    18| Unmarked Windowless Vans Contain Candy
    Oct 25 2025
    That mascot pep-off sure got violent. But that violence led to Bethany Greenwick reclaiming her title as school mascot! Who says violence solves nothing? Students, the GPS tracker to be installed in you will be quite painfull-less-ish... Keep your eyelids peeled, again, for Mr Frito's missing glass eye, again! Sports are happening, and we are telling you about them. Take a deep breath; September is plastic bag awareness month. The shortage of available teachers is a key issue that I am keeping an eye on. Thank you to our sponsors Chest Mix and the Tetwrist PSA. Music for this episode was performed by Jemmy Joe. You can listen to more of his tunes at JemmyJoe.bandcamp.com This month's parody song is Take My Breast Away. Lyrics: A man is to be executed by the guillotine. His one last request: to suckle on a maiden's teat. With much reluctance, I drop my breast upon his face. I trip forward, push him out, my boob takes his face's place. Then they drop the blade. Take my breast away. Drinking at a bar, I've entered a wet T-shirt contest. Posing like the best, somebody dumps liquid on my chest. Everybody's screaming, no one yells louder than me. The water bucket was actually the deep fryer grease. It melts my flesh away. Through the store window you saw me sawing off a mannequin's chest. I was tackled by security; the man is keeping me suppressed. My breasts they confiscate. This can't be my fate. Take the chest away. Take my breast away. Chilling on my porch, a turkey waddles up to me. I bonk it on the head, pluck it, cook it, and start to eat. Kicking down my door, secret service agents pull their guns. This turkey was free; the president issued pardons. They take my turkey breast away. Take my breast away.

    Please share this with anyone that you think may enjoy it. I don't know where to find my audience! :|
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    23 Min.
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