My sister Julie just called me up to say that she's having a hard time spelling mnemonic, and she asked me to come up with a device to help her remember the word's letters in the correct order. "Why do you care how to spell it?" I barked. "Have you signed up to retake the SAT? You know what this reminds me of? This reminds me of the time you called me to say that you just tried to join the Army, but you couldn't, because you failed to meet the enlistment requirement that you must ship out to basic training prior to your 35th birthday!" Then I hung up on her.

But now, of course, I can't think of anything else but helping my sister with a device for mnemonic. So I'm sitting down right now to figure it out, which means that you people are getting in on the ground floor of this thing.

I know why Julie called me and not my brother or sisters for assistance on this. I used acronyms and other word play to help my kids prep for tests ever since they were in elementary school, and not only did they get good grades, they also loved the process. This is because it was the only time I encouraged them to use foul language. 

I've told you this before, but when I was young I traded on dirty jokes, bodily functions and swears. I learned these things quickly and with staying power. So I let the girls slip in off-color words and concepts to enhance their studying. For example, if a science test's study guide included The Properties of Metal (Malleable, Hard, Shiny, Conductive, Dense, Melting point, Corrosion), the best way to remember that would be: Mr. Henbock smokes crack during metal class. Bringing teachers into the equation is always a winning strategy.

During these pre-gaming sessions, Bo would invariably look up and ask, "Why don't you just have them learn the actual stuff?" 

"You're being silly," I'd say. "Now, Margot, what did we decide on the capital of Kenfucky? Are we going with Frankfart? Or is Fartfort more of a hook?" 

Now I'll share with you something Greta announced before a World History test that I can't believe hadn't occurred to me as a kid: "The capital of Thigh-land is Bang-Cock."

One of my most inspired knowledge cramming tactics was directed at Margot when, late one night, after reviewing for hours to ace an American History exam, she couldn't remember how many US Supreme Court justices there are. The other a-thousand study facts were jammed into their protective virtual wordplay envelopes. "It just won't go in!" she finally cried out. 

"Hold on. I'll be right back," I told her, and I went to my room to grab Jon Stewart's book called, America. When I returned, I looked at her and uttered the classic parental line, "Kiddo, this is gonna hurt you way more than it hurts me." Then I showed her this page:

When she looked up I asked her again, "How many justices are on the US Supreme Court?" 

"Nine," she wept. "There are nine."