"Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table; and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at his own temerity, -
'Please, sir, I want some more.'
The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale.
He gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds; and then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralyzed with wonder, the boys with fear.
'What!' said the master at length, in a faint voice.
'Please, sir,' replied Oliver, 'I want some more.'
The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman in the highchair, said, - Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for more.'
There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every
countenance.
'For more!' said Mr. Limbkins. 'Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?'
'He did, sir,' replied Bumble.
"That boy will be hung,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. 'I know that boy will be hung.'
Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.
'I never was more convinced of anything in my life,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and read the bill next morning - I never was more convinced of anything in my life, than I am that that boy will come to be hung?
Conquering through the Cross - “Don” Bosco Schools & Shelters x Business Defrocking.
An atmospheric evocation of what I call the “Oliver Twist Experience.”
The cliche vampiric Roman Catholic education machination, where the missionaries reside in their luxury abode called the "Provincial House" in the pulsating heart of Bombay, enjoying their elaborate table spreads.
While the note counting machine doesn’t stop wisping through those green rectangular Gandhis in the Shrine of this multiple acre massive roman dollhouse connected directly to the Vatican, Rome.
I wonder, if anything ever comes from Rome in the direction of India, Africa, etc. or as always, all parasitic cords are one-way streets where foreign prosperity across the world swerves towards the Roman Empire.
These fly by night and above the law Bishops and Cardinals have their own jurisdictions in foreign soil completely disregarding and defying the existing homegrown power structures and laws.
“Holy Order” the “New World domination Order” eh? Own little parallel government and paramilitary of mousies playing godfather on a tabletop phone.
News Reference:
Diametrically, in a shoe box of constriction are their poor toddler and orphan catches, a guilt object to rack in the donor’s favor, a strategic chicken coup. ‘For Profit’ dubious brazen endeavors under the all-seeing skies of the Creator.
Bunch of Bosco Priest with their POSCO offences that follow them around.
Rome wasn’t built in a day.
But mini–Rome Don Bosco High school Matunga, has been built in the 19th century Bombay.
Shelter Don Bosco Wadala & Don Bosco School Matunga.
Both of these bunch of rigged shit holes located a stone's throw away from each other on captured land are the pinnacle of education’s decay and biased eye. They bootlick the rich and create a so-called social divide from the beginning that is the A division which feigns itself to be the “upper echelon”. It was the so-called sports division, where students had special privileges, to train for the sport they represent the school in, and were stationed in this one size screws all frivolous classroom.
I meritoriously made it to this hyped-up A division to represent the school in football in the 8th and 9th standard only to discover it’s the superlative of all the collective politics, far from meritorious, bullshit social structure I couldn’t give 2 shits about. But people paid off ostentatious amounts to the school authorities to be in this creme de la creme construct, a symbol of social currency, where money floated towards a synthetically manipulated stream heading speedily towards, you guessed it right “The Vatican”.
As a pupil of Don Bosco Matunga, I’ve witnessed enough of the money snorting and politics that goes about with Priests & Teachers pleasing and academically “teasing” (favoritism in exams) towards the parents who make copious donations to this ravenous greedy off shoot of the roman catholic church.
As I spectated and was actively ruffling through every dubiously scintillating feather this school had to offer because I was a product of pure merit as there were no godfathers I could seek favors from. I was more interested in decimating this mousy panel of convenient weasels who ran the management, you guessed it right the panzee priestly force.
The parents who surrendered their kid to the boarding of this school didn’t know they were sinning against their own soul by trusting such abominable wolves to tend their minors.
The priest’s connivingly managed the funds of these boys like the quintessential greedy & covetous wardens in the book “Oliver Twist”. The boys shrieked they never saw the full glory of their funds through the years, and they were made to beg for their own funds, given to the priests for their up-keeping.
I used to be a sincere volunteer in both the “Bosco’s youth services” and the shelter Don Bosco and have spent countless hours in service with the boys to know their grievances up close and personal, to be able to clearly see the metaphysical horns on the Salesian heads. They pummel these kids as they assign them absurd tasks like picking up the stones of an expansive football field, in the peak heat of 2pm or get hit with a hockey stick, so on and so forth, I’m not even mentioning all the sexual offences in this nauseating environment that is repulsive as ever.
Lunatic drunk-dancing about in swindled coin.
1. The debauchery loving Principal Crispino Dsouza who dances around on some sublime neat alcohol like a drunk monkey on festivals other than roman doesn’t even shroud his inclinations to conquer through the cross. He’s a very vocal partner and promoter/pioneer of laundering school endeavors to name a few like the Basketball Savio Cup, Christmas Panorama, the Annual Day, & Canteen Day where money flows into the kitty of these pedo’s like the gushing waterfalls accomplice to gravity. This midlife crisis goon accomplishes his formerly broken dreams of being an entrepreneur/ athlete/ B grade actor on the last buck of the working-class donors. They spare no one. Bunch of failed actors/ athletes and entrepreneurs in this rubbish roman gutter. They hold your academic progress as collateral, to get you to dance like a monkey on cocaine.
2. The obfuscation & manipulation of funds and merit is the core competency of this school since the 19th century, when an Italian Machiavellian “Priest” Maschio copped out the soil and plopped out a cross on this acres wide establishment to mint esoteric cashflow streams from the crevices.
3. They pressure & bully poor kids with a step motherly stroke of wrath when they failed to contribute a minimum of a couple thousand to stay in the game and buy in their academic favor with the teachers. They delegate some crappy tasks like the Raffle form for the “poor” to go door to door and beg 50 bucks a neighboring family member, to feed this greedy insatiable python to take a shit on the poor, by simply utilizing their name to extort. You can’t waltz back into class unless you complete begging about from 50 individuals. Do the math. Thousands of students, thousands of forms, “this is just one of their extortion gimmicks”. The same money minting story every year on loop.
A personal experience.
1. I was in the 8th A where the teacher, let's call her Ms. P. Ms. P was a tyrannical creature, who was deficient of the sound capacity of impartiality. Through the year she favored students and rebuked students in response to the coins they put in her box so that she can lick up to the management. (Same story in all classrooms, and probably all catholic schools.)
2. But Ms. P in particular was differentiated cause due to some ovarian lottery she became the class teacher to the upper echelon “The A Division”. She had the last say in the 8th Standard to see to it as to who moves on to “9th A.” She would vocally put out a contract and very conspicuously imply that she’s going to ostracize the students not responding to “jump!”, with “How High?!”. It was Savio Cup and the fundraising was on the horizon. It was that time of the year which the school in unison had to work to resuscitate Crispino’s dead & decomposing dream.
3. I frantically sought help back home and unnecessarily fed the greed of this hungry wild goose with a sponsorship of Rs 10,000 from the friend of my parent. Alas, A thankless favor taken for a collective of swindlers and extorters. She just became a boulder in between because she thought she could, like most growth stunting forces, now she’s being dilapidated somewhere.
4. I was suddenly the blue-eyed boy in class, it was hysterical, I was never thrown on the floor for messing around in class, envied by the rest, showered with compliments and fluently moved on to 9th A until I had to find some more coin to buy my immunity and sustain through the spell of elimination. Pretty pointless, I might as well give a shit about this uninfluential extorter’s favor.
5. Being exceptional in the game wasn’t apparently enough, you needed to be astute with the dubious laws of the roman jungle, the corruption that came with the territory.
6. Looking back, No one could take credit for me making it to the A division as I was too exceptional that year to be ignored, but staying in this little piranha tank, I was disillusioned by this pipe dream and resorted to other rebellious street smart ploys like bunking class through the rest of my schooling career, as I continued to learn, if I’m favored by the Creator, no one can do shit to me, I was destined to make it that far and I was destined for greatness, and that Ms. P was destined to go down as a weasel who tormented children to lick up to some defunct management clowns.
7. To Bosco's: Go scurry through your camera footage and you’ll find me, the 9th A monitor in my blue tie leading the shadow bunking revolution, in our organized bunking marathons, waltzing around the corridors pretending to head somewhere important on a task. I knew I wasn’t missing some momentous stuff, cause all that occurred in the juvenile prison cell classroom was some rancid dated bullshit that we call curriculum.
Down to the Climax.
1. The final precursor to foreshadow where I am today, was this climactic event that marks the beginning of the end for them. The Tenth grade A division had no privileges, it was back to ground zero from your heavenly abode, to apparently focus on your academics in the final year of vapid immersion.
2. The summer camp farewell day with spectators from the entire school, the wrap up of the last football summer camp, where these mousies and coaches were on one team and their so-called apprentices, the 9 grade A division, was on the other team commenced in the year 2012. I, for one, remember decimating these “uncles” like they were my bitches on this pseudo-green patch for an hour, and I couldn’t gloat any more about the nutmegs I slew between their legs and the pleasure I drew out of the public humiliation I catalyzed against these vicious mousie clad team of losers, breaking the unsaid law of letting these uncles look good. Who kept getting preferential treatment by the referee, seeking to manipulate that rigged game to save face in which we won, and I drew a penalty for the team as one of their stupid mousies was foolish enough to slap the ball in the box to thwart my attempt at the goal. Despondent illegal transgressions?! Not surprised!
3. Now, to summarise… because of their overt/covert presence in our lives. That berating football game hasn’t quite spiritually come to a close, perhaps only their deaths of this accursed cohort will bring this perpetual game to a standstill. We can go on as long as they can… their watchman family led by Dhanin Chearavanont is already floating dead somewhere cleaning his own Thai ocean that he’s polluted, little class monitor/complain box for the cult. LOL.
A Bosco’s Update:
Piranha has turned greedy whale, as this school is now greedier than ever as they’ve turned international, a bigger malevolent racketeering entity than it used to be. Defrauding its so-called students of their destinies promising Rome, but it’s a mere brainwashing dome, as are most of organized education, an indoctrinating mark of the British colonization.
Closing on an artistic note unlike these talentless crusaders of complacency, conversion and extortion.
“I’m no Push-Over, that’s one thing I’ll never be”. Will be counted among the greatest, be prolific through eternity!