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I'm a rising 11th grader (yes, that means I'll be a JUNIOR in high school). That's wonderful, eh? I'd be jumping for joy too if I didn't know what high school was really all about. Yes, I love clothes and makeup...that's not the problem. It's just that the basic idea that an adult who isn't half as bright as my dog and the home economics teacher put together but who has more "experience" gets to run our lives. That person can tell us how to dress, what and when to eat, when we can leave, and even what to say...while filling our heads with knowledge. Usually it's some bullshit man, who thinks he is fabulous because he's got a little nameplate with "PRINCIPAL" engraved upon it's shiny black cover, because he's missing something else. But sometimes it's a women who regrets not partying more in life and now is alone in a loveless marriage where her husband is screwing the quarterback of the 11 and 0 football team he coaches. What business do they have running my life, when obviously they've already fucked up their own? They have tax dollars, that's all, which I don't pay...remember: I'm not as big of a bitch as I seem.
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