This, dearies, is the uber important post about the uber important first day of school. Like I said, it's uber important. I advise you to take notes because there WILL BE A QUIZ.
Begin.
Let's ignore the tedious morning routine, shall we? We arrive at my brother's school, which is the school I broke up with a few years ago. We had a madcap love affair, but I had to leave because it was oh-so-juvenile. I mean, there comes a time to mature, and middle school was content to just stay stuck as a 13 year old. REGARDLESS, we split amicably and I was able to retour her angular halls, noting that my elementary school librarian was now the middle school librarian, that the blue metal poles had been reinforced with some of those ugly brown bricks, that Merritt had left her door open as per usual without worrying about any weirdo kids sauntering in to greet her royal highness.
Yeah, I walked in. She was off somewhere. So I left.
We showed the kid his classes and flew! Flew! Flew to my school, where I felt like it was just another day... until I reached the gym. I then stood in line between two very smelly dudes and prepared to rejoin another smelly line to fix the glaring problem on my schedule.
Office was full. Totally not worth it.
1st period Thornbury is lulz. She seems nice enough, she says weird words like jozzles or something that I can't remember, and she hates bosoms spilling over desks, thongs on her floor, and cell-phones busting with her class. She would gladly sneak a phone scrambler, whatever the hell that is, over the border from Canada, but it's illegal and she's sure someone would rat her out.
LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: it's going to be fucking hard, I ain't gonna lie. Good thing she's nice though; practically the only thing keeping me there, besides the prospect of an easy admission to cOlLeGe. (Please imagine the word college is being pronounced with the KTshy face, extremely retardedly. KTHX.)
2nd period: English with Easley. THIS IS MY DOMAIN, BITCH. This is where I rule, where I conquer, where I effing spit. English is my motherfucking kingdom, and I lost the squirmy feeling in my stomach just a tad. Except I wish I was in my last English class - I miss those people.
LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: I don't care. Last year's kids told me it was easy peasy lemon squeezy, and I mean... it's English. I won't die.
Here's where things get dicey. Dicey like chopped tomatoes. See, psychology was a backup elective, if I didn't get into Journalism. Well, I did. But my Italian III class disappeared and, though it pains me and kills my heart and murders my spleen to do so, if I had to make a choice between Italian and any other elective, Italian would win every time.
3rd period: Psychology w/Jenkins. This is how I wish all my classes were. ALL OF THEM. It's no fair that teachers have to be taking themselves so seriously this year, because if all teachers were like this guy, then there would be NO DOUBT about high school being the best years of your LIFE.
I mean, it's obvious the guy's not a good teacher. He's barely a teacher. But he's so funny it doesn't matter. He's exactly the refreshing burst of mint that my dark and bitter concoction of class needs... DESPERATELY.
He told us he's not even allowed to be around children, for one. Then:
"This is psychology. It means we get to talk about stuff... like SEEEX. That's right, we'll be watching porn in this class."
Something like: "So I was driving down the freeway in my jeep which my wife won't let me use anymore, driving like the Mark 7, and my daughter starts screaming in the back seat and I'm like," mimes wild backward swiping motion, "SHUT UP! So then the car flips over... but I know the police officer who comes, so it doesn't matter. Then we decide to barbecue a rabbit on the side of the freeway. What else where we supposed to do, it was already dead."
He apparently also has tourettes, so we should excuse him any time he blurts out profanity. HE'S A DISEASED MAN, I TELL YOU.
"How many of you are seniors? Ok, you seniors, enjoy this year. It is the last year you will have to be kids. There's nothing to look forward to after highschool. There's your 21st birthday, then marriage (which is a MISTAKE), then retirement and then you DIE. GO TO EVERY DANCE/GAME/WHATEVER."
We read the syllabus and he paused, looking around. "Yeah, isn't that paragraph so cool? Doesn't it sound so smart and professional? Can you believe I wrote that thing at 11 o'clock last night and I wasn't even sober? Man, I'm so proud of myself."
Highlight of my day? Yeah. It definitely was.
LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: Zero. My kinda class.
4th period: Gutierrez, AP US History. I'd rather have the other teacher, but the people in the class are ok. I know several, which is always a good thing. Multiple choice test was fine, exactly what I expected. One good thing: he had Disneyland themed posters waaay up on top of the cabinets, practically hidden from view. It was the most lively thing in the room and he wasn't even properly showcasing them. Hmmm...
LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: I have difficulty believing this will be as difficult as Bio or Math, but it definitely has potential to be incredibly hard. Keeping an eye on this one...
Lunch was spent in the counselor's office where I never even made it to my counselor's office. Yippeeeee.
5th Period: Math. Austoddd, as she sorta pronounced it, is cool and real young which makes her even more energized but... she had me thoroughly freaked out. I have no choice though; it's either this, or I screw up my schedule completely, and I would be highly disappointed if some of those people in that class could do it and I couldn't. I'd shank myself in the face, quite frankly.
LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY: HARD. HARD. HARD. AS A HARD HAT. That's basically what she said to us, but she's also thoroughly invested in making sure we understand everything, and I've realized that if a teacher loves what she does and thinks you can do it, you usually can. My last math teacher taught me that.
6th period: A mixed bag. On the one hand, I walked into Martello's room and my heart sobbed upon seeing all the elite It. 3 kids. There I was, standing amongst the group of my peers, my true peers, the kids I'd been hoping to share a class with since It. 1 and I had to exit the room because of Journalism. It's like all the kids who actually understand the language and aren't just there to screw around and get their high school credits. GAWD.
Instead, I left to Journalism, which was nice because Kennedy's cool, and it's journalism. I mean, it sounds perfect, right? Not when I can't have It.3.
Worse still: it seems my previous teachers have all been toting me as supah cool to Kennedy because, during roll call, she actually paused and went, "I've heard great things about you," like I was the Boy Who Lived or something.
JESUS CHRIST. After all the effort it took to get a letter of recommendation, and a good one at that; It's like I'm refuting everything they've said about me. It sucked having to tell her that I have to give up her class because it interferes with a plan I've had since before I even walked through the school's doors. "Tell Martello I hate her!" she called out merrily, once I explained I switched out. (45 min. in line. 45 MINUTES.)
LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY OF ITALIAN: If English is my kingdom/domain, then Italian is the Earth held between my hands. On the Earth, when I'm not manipulating the weather conditions, one can glance little old me gazing out of the balcony of the kingdom that is English. Inside, I rule the kingdom, my commands impeded only by the unpredictable weather. Outside, I. AM. GOD.
Basically: Not too hard. Not too hard at all.
I should be hunting for calculator deals. Yes, yes I should.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
DONE.
Done.
Done with English, done with History, done with Bio. DONE. Done with summer, done with laziness.
And now that I've finished, it looks like it's time to actually begin! URGH.
Short post is short, short summer was shorter.
Done with English, done with History, done with Bio. DONE. Done with summer, done with laziness.
And now that I've finished, it looks like it's time to actually begin! URGH.
Short post is short, short summer was shorter.
A Comprehensive Chronology of a Procrastinator
The following events occurred during a period of time. Times are approximate.
9:00 - I should take a shower! It's going to be a looong night.
9:30? Idk - considers beginning assignment, decides not to.
10:00ish - Wanders around room, considering the pros and cons of Moroccan style decor.
11:00 - Begins watching documentary on the sexual revolution
11:00 - fiddles with bed dressings - oooh those are nice pillows!
11:00 - I have to pee
11:00 - the cat wants to go out. Quick! Before she pees!
11:00 - sharpen pencil... a lot
11:15ish? - Start note cards
11:35ish - finish notecards - why is it that these stupid definitions took half my goddamn stack?
11:40 - flicks through channels obsessively searching for something to procrastinate with even more besides sex of '69 (lol 69)
11:41 - sighs, decides to get crap done now, refuse myself sleep until every godforsaken blank is filled with beautiful biological knowledge
11:45 - loses sight of goal and refocus my attention on sex o' '69.
11:46 - looks wistfully at pile of books on floor
11:47 - considers shelving unit and its odd color
11:47 - wonders vaguely where the cat's gone off to
11:48 - tries to pay attention
11:50 - gets bored trying to pay attention and SLOWLY ties up hair
11:52-12: reads/does not absorb anything being read
12:00 - have the brilliant idea to record all the stupid, useless things I've been doing to avoid doing stupid, useless work
12:10 - decide I should really get this stuff done. But my room doesn't smell like Brazilian carnival, so I forgo work in favor of pleasant aromatic room spray
12:11 - think about skipping it and copying from someone else
12:12 - decide that's a horrible way to start the year and slap myself across the face (metaphorically) to convince myself to work
OH LOOK, IT WORKED.
For the next twoish hours, Natalia worked, and actually got shiz done. Not completely, but good enough to not be dying tomorrow/TODAY.
Oh yes. I got my spring testing results back. They were fine - except for math, where I got BASIC and a mini-scolding for all my trouble. BUT WHO CARES, IT'S MATH. I mean, really.
9:00 - I should take a shower! It's going to be a looong night.
9:30? Idk - considers beginning assignment, decides not to.
10:00ish - Wanders around room, considering the pros and cons of Moroccan style decor.
11:00 - Begins watching documentary on the sexual revolution
11:00 - fiddles with bed dressings - oooh those are nice pillows!
11:00 - I have to pee
11:00 - the cat wants to go out. Quick! Before she pees!
11:00 - sharpen pencil... a lot
11:15ish? - Start note cards
11:35ish - finish notecards - why is it that these stupid definitions took half my goddamn stack?
11:40 - flicks through channels obsessively searching for something to procrastinate with even more besides sex of '69 (lol 69)
11:41 - sighs, decides to get crap done now, refuse myself sleep until every godforsaken blank is filled with beautiful biological knowledge
11:45 - loses sight of goal and refocus my attention on sex o' '69.
11:46 - looks wistfully at pile of books on floor
11:47 - considers shelving unit and its odd color
11:47 - wonders vaguely where the cat's gone off to
11:48 - tries to pay attention
11:50 - gets bored trying to pay attention and SLOWLY ties up hair
11:52-12: reads/does not absorb anything being read
12:00 - have the brilliant idea to record all the stupid, useless things I've been doing to avoid doing stupid, useless work
12:10 - decide I should really get this stuff done. But my room doesn't smell like Brazilian carnival, so I forgo work in favor of pleasant aromatic room spray
12:11 - think about skipping it and copying from someone else
12:12 - decide that's a horrible way to start the year and slap myself across the face (metaphorically) to convince myself to work
OH LOOK, IT WORKED.
For the next twoish hours, Natalia worked, and actually got shiz done. Not completely, but good enough to not be dying tomorrow/TODAY.
Oh yes. I got my spring testing results back. They were fine - except for math, where I got BASIC and a mini-scolding for all my trouble. BUT WHO CARES, IT'S MATH. I mean, really.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Gay Fright
My father follows a daily schedule. One of the names on the schedule for today is a woman named Gay Fright. I wish I was joking, but it's effing true. (I won't lie, I sorta love it.)
Guess what happened yesterday? I went to a concert. Ricardo Arjona, no less. YOU KNOW HIM? I DOOOO. He waved at me... actually, he waved at the whole audience, but it's the same thing, practically.
It was at the Hot Water Hotel/Casino. THAT PLACE IS NIIICE. Until you walk into the casino. I find it quite interesting that casinos always seem to be the places where all the smokers hang out. Like, "Hey wanna go bowling?" Smoker: "NAH MAN, I can't smoke at the bowling alley! I needta smoke!" OTHER DUDE: "Wanna go to Disneyland?" "Nah man, I can't smoke in Disneyland! That's racist!" "OK, wanna go sailing?" "I CAN'T GO SAILING, ARE CHOO KIDDING ME? I CAN'T SMOKE AND SAIL AT THE SAME TIME!"
"FINE. Wanna go to the casino?"
"YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS I DO."
They just seem to stick all the smokers in casinos and it's weird and it sickens me and I would hate to work there because I'd get secondhand lungs. I like my lungs to be brand new and unused, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
Regardless, I went to the Hot Water Casino, endured the unbearable smoooerkleklkue of dooom, walked around a lot, entered a cafe where the family was - it seriously was like a family affair, freaking everyone I know was there - ordered strawberry smoothie thang and walked around some more around all the lame, stupid gamblers.
Concert time? Yeah. We tried to commandeer a box and were kicked out for all our troubles. Actually, they just directed us towards our real seats but it's the same thing. There was a neato set up on stage in semi-dark chocolate darknessl; meanwhile, the likes of Frank Caliendo told us, across giant screens, to turn off our phones or Robert De Niro might turn up and repeat stuff to us.
Eventually the show began and I was pleased, but also not. It was great, yes, but I wish he would've played some of his older stuff. It was mostly his newer music, which is lovely and all, but I wanted ooold stuff. I dunno. It was fine though - he had a corner of Mexico City set up right there on stage, with an apartment building, a bar, a hair-cutting place, road tunnel/taxi, and billboards (inflatable WHUT). I noticed he stuck to his less-controversial music - no gay-perspective song here - and he even decided to forgo his sad songs. Maybe he doesn't like to spend his tour singing being sad over his music, though it obviously never sad about it? WHO KNOWS.
Overall, quite enjoyable. A night well spent, especially when the rest of the family up in the nosebleed seats started dedicated songs to my dad and uncle down where we were. Just goes to show how LOUD my aunt can scream that we heard her over the speakers and from so far away.
Guess what happened yesterday? I went to a concert. Ricardo Arjona, no less. YOU KNOW HIM? I DOOOO. He waved at me... actually, he waved at the whole audience, but it's the same thing, practically.
It was at the Hot Water Hotel/Casino. THAT PLACE IS NIIICE. Until you walk into the casino. I find it quite interesting that casinos always seem to be the places where all the smokers hang out. Like, "Hey wanna go bowling?" Smoker: "NAH MAN, I can't smoke at the bowling alley! I needta smoke!" OTHER DUDE: "Wanna go to Disneyland?" "Nah man, I can't smoke in Disneyland! That's racist!" "OK, wanna go sailing?" "I CAN'T GO SAILING, ARE CHOO KIDDING ME? I CAN'T SMOKE AND SAIL AT THE SAME TIME!"
"FINE. Wanna go to the casino?"
"YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS I DO."
They just seem to stick all the smokers in casinos and it's weird and it sickens me and I would hate to work there because I'd get secondhand lungs. I like my lungs to be brand new and unused, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
Regardless, I went to the Hot Water Casino, endured the unbearable smoooerkleklkue of dooom, walked around a lot, entered a cafe where the family was - it seriously was like a family affair, freaking everyone I know was there - ordered strawberry smoothie thang and walked around some more around all the lame, stupid gamblers.
Concert time? Yeah. We tried to commandeer a box and were kicked out for all our troubles. Actually, they just directed us towards our real seats but it's the same thing. There was a neato set up on stage in semi-dark chocolate darknessl; meanwhile, the likes of Frank Caliendo told us, across giant screens, to turn off our phones or Robert De Niro might turn up and repeat stuff to us.
Eventually the show began and I was pleased, but also not. It was great, yes, but I wish he would've played some of his older stuff. It was mostly his newer music, which is lovely and all, but I wanted ooold stuff. I dunno. It was fine though - he had a corner of Mexico City set up right there on stage, with an apartment building, a bar, a hair-cutting place, road tunnel/taxi, and billboards (inflatable WHUT). I noticed he stuck to his less-controversial music - no gay-perspective song here - and he even decided to forgo his sad songs. Maybe he doesn't like to spend his tour singing being sad over his music, though it obviously never sad about it? WHO KNOWS.
Overall, quite enjoyable. A night well spent, especially when the rest of the family up in the nosebleed seats started dedicated songs to my dad and uncle down where we were. Just goes to show how LOUD my aunt can scream that we heard her over the speakers and from so far away.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I Hate the District and the middle school, and bad electives
2/3 OF THE WAY DONE. YESH. Only Bio's left, and it's, umm, weird. I kinda don't get it, but I'm all for not caring. You all for not caring? CAUSE I AM. (I mean, I just said that. Jeesh. Copy cat.)
Interesting dilemma came up in the Rahlia household a mere FEW DAYS ago. It turns out the reason my brother wasn't receiving any information from his new middler school was because, eh hem, he wasn't actually registered.
Wait, what? Explanation, plz, district. I mean, you have one job and you can't even get that right? I'm not impressed. Not impressed at all.
Problem solved, though. My mother had to choose the alien boy an elective on the spot and they offered shitty choices. I mean, the most promising one was band, but my brother is in no way interesting in music/committed to sticking with playing an instrument/lazy and wouldn't want to carry his lil case around every day. So, what's your poison of choice? Music appreciation or, er, environmental technology I think it was? I mean, environmental technology? What is this madness? What the hell happened to good ol' fashioned technology? (Hah, old fashioned technology! Excuse me while I sew up my GUT.)
THE KID CANNOT TYPE. I NEED KEYBOARDING, PPL. I NEED BASIC WORD/POWERPOINT SKILLS, MAH GENTS. I refuse to spend his middle school years and the crappiest years of my life - aka highschool - teaching his royal poopness how to do his essays and whatnot.
I mean, he needs help for everything. What are they teaching them in school nowadays?
Oh yeah, and environmental technology? Wtf? What are you gonna make the little midgets do, go outside in the hot hot heat and assemble solar panels above Merritt's roof? Doesn't that sound a tad advanced for 6th graders? I'd rather have genetics with Salwey (who left), Art history w/Nabors (who also left), or Welcome to Japan, where I drank delicious decaf green tea that smelled like sunshine and awesome, where I watched Japanese movies and failed at chopsticks and met my friend's brother and wore "kimonos."
What's that you say? That one's gone too?
Ok then. Give him music appreciation. Since he can't appreciate music to the extent that he'd actually be interested in full-on band, make the little guy learn to appreciate it a bit more and then, who knows, maybe next year he'll be spitting flecks of saliva into his tuba.
(Man, I loooove the Tuba. It's so sexy.)
Oh yeah. And there aren't any trips to Disneyland. Instead, they take them to Seaworld. Still cool, but not as awesome.
Interesting dilemma came up in the Rahlia household a mere FEW DAYS ago. It turns out the reason my brother wasn't receiving any information from his new middler school was because, eh hem, he wasn't actually registered.
Wait, what? Explanation, plz, district. I mean, you have one job and you can't even get that right? I'm not impressed. Not impressed at all.
Problem solved, though. My mother had to choose the alien boy an elective on the spot and they offered shitty choices. I mean, the most promising one was band, but my brother is in no way interesting in music/committed to sticking with playing an instrument/lazy and wouldn't want to carry his lil case around every day. So, what's your poison of choice? Music appreciation or, er, environmental technology I think it was? I mean, environmental technology? What is this madness? What the hell happened to good ol' fashioned technology? (Hah, old fashioned technology! Excuse me while I sew up my GUT.)
THE KID CANNOT TYPE. I NEED KEYBOARDING, PPL. I NEED BASIC WORD/POWERPOINT SKILLS, MAH GENTS. I refuse to spend his middle school years and the crappiest years of my life - aka highschool - teaching his royal poopness how to do his essays and whatnot.
I mean, he needs help for everything. What are they teaching them in school nowadays?
Oh yeah, and environmental technology? Wtf? What are you gonna make the little midgets do, go outside in the hot hot heat and assemble solar panels above Merritt's roof? Doesn't that sound a tad advanced for 6th graders? I'd rather have genetics with Salwey (who left), Art history w/Nabors (who also left), or Welcome to Japan, where I drank delicious decaf green tea that smelled like sunshine and awesome, where I watched Japanese movies and failed at chopsticks and met my friend's brother and wore "kimonos."
What's that you say? That one's gone too?
Ok then. Give him music appreciation. Since he can't appreciate music to the extent that he'd actually be interested in full-on band, make the little guy learn to appreciate it a bit more and then, who knows, maybe next year he'll be spitting flecks of saliva into his tuba.
(Man, I loooove the Tuba. It's so sexy.)
Oh yeah. And there aren't any trips to Disneyland. Instead, they take them to Seaworld. Still cool, but not as awesome.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Death of Summer
I can feel my summer dying. It's this tiny little shrunken thing, curled up in a corner of my front patio, licking desert dirt in a futile effort to get some form of sustenance. I once tried watering it, but I got bored watching my dying summer roll around nakedly in the rapidly evaporating puddle of precious liquid that I pored onto the hot concrete.
Aside: Why the hell is my mother's cell phone beeping? IT'S ANNOYING.
It's rather disturbing, watching a summer die. It's sort of like watching your dreams go up in flames, or your favorite character in a book die, or watching practically anything on VH1. It's an ugly, uncomfortable, itchy, and inconvenient experience, and I'm sad to say that practically everyone has experienced a summer die.
But you know, I think I'd much rather watch a summer die than not have a summer at all. I mean, what the hell does summer mean to adults with jobs in the summer? It probably just plain sucks, but whatever.
Point is, my summer is dying, I'm watching it die, it's rather disturbing and I really sorta wish someone would come and give it CPR or prick it with an IV or give it open heart/brain surgery since I'm in no way qualified to do any of those things - I'm afraid I might only make things worse.
STILL. Ricardo Arjona on the 28th. WHOOP DA WHOOP! Nice way to finish off a rather uneventful summer, wouldn't you say?
Aside: Why the hell is my mother's cell phone beeping? IT'S ANNOYING.
It's rather disturbing, watching a summer die. It's sort of like watching your dreams go up in flames, or your favorite character in a book die, or watching practically anything on VH1. It's an ugly, uncomfortable, itchy, and inconvenient experience, and I'm sad to say that practically everyone has experienced a summer die.
But you know, I think I'd much rather watch a summer die than not have a summer at all. I mean, what the hell does summer mean to adults with jobs in the summer? It probably just plain sucks, but whatever.
Point is, my summer is dying, I'm watching it die, it's rather disturbing and I really sorta wish someone would come and give it CPR or prick it with an IV or give it open heart/brain surgery since I'm in no way qualified to do any of those things - I'm afraid I might only make things worse.
STILL. Ricardo Arjona on the 28th. WHOOP DA WHOOP! Nice way to finish off a rather uneventful summer, wouldn't you say?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Math Lessons, Unfounded Theories/Accusations, and REVOLUTION
Today has been quite the day. Lots of magical stuff happened. For example, I realized why I feel so weirdly stuffed/bloated/whatever during the school year. It's simple maths, really.
Lemme teach you mah mathematical SKILL.
Me + Homework = Sitting
Sitting + Homework = Bored
Bored + Sitting + Homework = Procrastination
My favorite form of Procrastination = EATING. A lot. As in "inordinate amounts of food." Copious amounts of food. Choose your word.
So, if we are to take the math relativity/transative laws or whatever they're called we get:
Me + Homework = Sitting
(Me + Homework) + Homework = Bored
(Sitting + Homework) + (Me + Homework) + Homework = Procrastination
My favorite form of (Sitting + Homework + Me + Homework + Homework) = EATING
THEREFORE
EATING=ME, homework-sitting, bored ... & Homework = Homework
WAIT. STOP THE PRESSES. I just realized something. Homework also = Bored/Boring
This changes my equations considerably.
Regardless of my horrible math skills and your obviously confuzzled brains, the point I was trying to get to was when I'm doing homework, I get bored/distracted by things, and usually those things are food, and I just eat a lot without moving. The whole point of that exercise was to show how much non-exercise I get while I do homework + the extra food I wouldn't usually eat because I wouldn't be procrastinating, which leads me to a new idea, which I think is as Revolutionary as a bunch of American colonsits reading the writings of John Locke.
(Regarding COLONSITS: Yes, I did typo. Then, I saw my typo, and decided it was a really good one because, truth be told, Ben Franklin, John Adams, Patrick Henry, and all those other men that I love nearly and dearly were a bunch of colonists who sat a lot and wrote philosophical/revolutionary-sparking things down... and they also sat on their colons.)
Prepare yourselves for the brain-splosion that's about to impact your, er, brains.
SCHOOL = OBESITY.
I know, I know. If I were to present my brilliant theory to the health professionals of this orgasmic nation that we all call our home, I'd be locked in a dungeon somewhere and called mad. Later, I'd die of some weird disease, but only after having dug a 50 foot tunnel between my cell and some cell of a dude really far away. Having dug my tunnel, I would hasten to teach that young man all of the wonderful knowledge that my brain held, making sure to put an emphasis on the school = obesity theory.
I mean, think about it. We go to school. Sit on our butts for long periods of time. Eat a ton of food to make up for our boredom/hunger or whatever. Then, during P.E., nobody gives a flying frankfurter; everyone just walks around being all, "I DON'T WANNA RUN."
Then homework? Yeah. Even less movement. And then those high-calorie snacks we eat while trying not to contemplate wars from many centuries ago, or why the hell the British Parliament was so goddamn hung-up on taxing the damn colonsits.
See what I mean? It all makes sense now. I say we start a REVOLUTION, my friendlies, and boycott the American educational system altogether, protecting our health and our rights as human beings to revolt against a government that does not have our best interests at heart, that is not doing all in its power to protect our unalienable RIGHTS.
Bitches, it's time to read John Locke, put on our bifocal glasses, and throw some goddamn tea into a goddamn harbor. Cause I've had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.
That is all.
This is what happens when you try to concentrate on work during the summer. It does funny things to your brain, TRUST.
Lemme teach you mah mathematical SKILL.
Me + Homework = Sitting
Sitting + Homework = Bored
Bored + Sitting + Homework = Procrastination
My favorite form of Procrastination = EATING. A lot. As in "inordinate amounts of food." Copious amounts of food. Choose your word.
So, if we are to take the math relativity/transative laws or whatever they're called we get:
Me + Homework = Sitting
(Me + Homework) + Homework = Bored
(Sitting + Homework) + (Me + Homework) + Homework = Procrastination
My favorite form of (Sitting + Homework + Me + Homework + Homework) = EATING
THEREFORE
EATING=ME, homework-sitting, bored ... & Homework = Homework
WAIT. STOP THE PRESSES. I just realized something. Homework also = Bored/Boring
This changes my equations considerably.
Regardless of my horrible math skills and your obviously confuzzled brains, the point I was trying to get to was when I'm doing homework, I get bored/distracted by things, and usually those things are food, and I just eat a lot without moving. The whole point of that exercise was to show how much non-exercise I get while I do homework + the extra food I wouldn't usually eat because I wouldn't be procrastinating, which leads me to a new idea, which I think is as Revolutionary as a bunch of American colonsits reading the writings of John Locke.
(Regarding COLONSITS: Yes, I did typo. Then, I saw my typo, and decided it was a really good one because, truth be told, Ben Franklin, John Adams, Patrick Henry, and all those other men that I love nearly and dearly were a bunch of colonists who sat a lot and wrote philosophical/revolutionary-sparking things down... and they also sat on their colons.)
Prepare yourselves for the brain-splosion that's about to impact your, er, brains.
SCHOOL = OBESITY.
I know, I know. If I were to present my brilliant theory to the health professionals of this orgasmic nation that we all call our home, I'd be locked in a dungeon somewhere and called mad. Later, I'd die of some weird disease, but only after having dug a 50 foot tunnel between my cell and some cell of a dude really far away. Having dug my tunnel, I would hasten to teach that young man all of the wonderful knowledge that my brain held, making sure to put an emphasis on the school = obesity theory.
I mean, think about it. We go to school. Sit on our butts for long periods of time. Eat a ton of food to make up for our boredom/hunger or whatever. Then, during P.E., nobody gives a flying frankfurter; everyone just walks around being all, "I DON'T WANNA RUN."
Then homework? Yeah. Even less movement. And then those high-calorie snacks we eat while trying not to contemplate wars from many centuries ago, or why the hell the British Parliament was so goddamn hung-up on taxing the damn colonsits.
See what I mean? It all makes sense now. I say we start a REVOLUTION, my friendlies, and boycott the American educational system altogether, protecting our health and our rights as human beings to revolt against a government that does not have our best interests at heart, that is not doing all in its power to protect our unalienable RIGHTS.
Bitches, it's time to read John Locke, put on our bifocal glasses, and throw some goddamn tea into a goddamn harbor. Cause I've had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.
That is all.
This is what happens when you try to concentrate on work during the summer. It does funny things to your brain, TRUST.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
