bleaugh.

i am sick as a dog who is sick today. "how do you feel about this, toast?" you ask? well, let me tell you. i'm really not a big fan. and thanks for your concern. goddamned anthrax...

yea so since my brain is functioning only on the primitive survival level at the moment due to excess amounts of nyquill and the like, i figured i'd just type up a lil somethin that the good doctor and myself wrote for our creative writing class in our senior year of high school.

once upon a time, there was a boy in a creative writing class named Tom Foolery. his teacher, a disgruntled tennis coach and unsuccesful journalist, enjoyed assingning pointless work to her students. now, Tom Foolery wasn't too big on doing pointless work, but he conceeded as he needed the credit to graduate from high school and be awarded with a piece of paper stating that he is by the institution's standards sane and has completed the cirriculum of said institution after twelve years of giving a half-assed effort and maintaining a 3.0 GPA in addition to passing the proficiency exam with not just flying colors, but those that don't fly as well, which the system requires you to take whilst in the 11th grade and then once again in the 12th grade during that gay, gay TeraNova testing cuz although the test has already been completed, it would be so completely unfair that those whom have already taken the test wouldn't have to engage in some sort of testing whilst those who haven't are infact engaging in a completely unrelated yet equally pointless form of testing, which further proved his hypothesis that the educational system is run by big gnarly illogical fascist radioactive subhuman intolerant odorous unimaginative conforming Kenny G lovin' PC dorks with smelly ass drawers, which in itself is also actually quite humorous cuz it inadvertently provides concrete evidence that further proves his other continually complex theory that the 12th year of school is nothing more than a waste of time due to the now clear and present fact that if one has acquired the knowledge to graduate high school and shown this by applying his/her cumulative knowledge to a state issued standardized test required to complete his/her learning process in the 11th grade, essentially there is no need for a 12th year for the knowledge is already present within the child's cranium, and in truth, we can see that high school is nothing more than a public/government funded daycare/institution where disgruntled teachers to whom it seems so very long ago they were once hopeful college students who thought the profession of educator would work well for them as they "love being around kids" but come to find that teaching is a stressful time-consuming hell in which they are now trapped due to the decent medical benefits and so-so retirement plan thus causing them to de-evolve to a jelly-like substance with no emotion other than bitterness towards their own lot in life which causes them to mindlessly stick up for the "higher-ups" who do plenty of power abusing themselves, illustrated in that most of their time is spent not keeping watch to be certain that disgruntled students aware of the aforementioned flaws are entering the schoolgrounds with weapons of the automatic and/or deadly nature intent on taking the lives of many innocent children who don't even need to be there in the first place (see first hypothosis), but rather take it upon themselves to play John Wayne(tm) and condescendingly penalize students due to the fact their shirt supposedly promotes satanism with a picture of a flaming skull which is in turn humorous because the school board won't teach or even acknowledge that god(tm) exists, yet feel it just dandy to not only acknoledge the existence of satan(tm) but to make the prejudice against his religion acceptable for a school setting because evidently one's religion hinders the learning process of him/her and those around him/her, all just so our hero Tom can be succesful in this world of competition and/or big business to eventually marry the girl of his dreams and raise 2.5 kids.

rock the parcel.

uh huh.

word.