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                                  The Day of Hell

A View from the Solarium RETRACTION: Too much x-Word!! Too much!! As you may see, I became a better writer as time went on, and didn't have to rely on stupid swearing gags. Also, as some of our humor-inclined viewers may see for themselves, I totally ripped off Dave Barry-esque gags for the whole first batch of essays. And a quick word on the people who 'spend too much time with each other': They're not annoying at all, I was just being my rude silly psycho self... =)

ADDENDUM for May 21st, 1998: There are several references to various students and faculty members, plus a bit of swearing in the form of §-Word that some readers undoubtedly will find incredibly offensive. Discretion is strongly advised. Why not read another essay?

            Oh F-Word!! There's an essay due today! Friday February 13th! Crapola!
            Now that I've accomplished the task of getting my teacher so angry that he'll write '0' in the grade book, making it easy to change it to '100' when I volunteer to take the grading stencils downstairs in June, it's now time for me to choose a Free Writing Topic. Procrastination comes readily to mind about now, the D-Word thing was assigned 2 weeks ago!
            But alas (Swahili for "oh S-Word"), I can't think how I could possibly write an ENTIRE PAGE about procrastination. Instead, I'll write about an average school day because that's typical of the idyllic, heartwarming, and inane things your average brain dead weenie writes about in fancy handwriting for extra credit on pink paper with flower drawings and bade spbeling for cuteness. I also like to complain about things.
            I woke up at 5:33 am today. Now when I say 'woke up', I usually mean pound the living daylights out of the alarm clock and go right back to sleep.
            I woke up at 7:55 am, examined the remaining LCD diodes to estimate the time and let loose with a jolly "holy F-Word!!". I then got ready for school quickly, because the bus comes at 8:33 in another subdivision. For myself, getting ready means quickly ingesting cereal that for legal reasons is labeled with names like "Chroonchy & Chockolatey Lumps O' Frooty Sharddies", then racing out the door, realizing I forgot my key, racing inside, looking for the F-Wording key which always loves to disappear just when I REALLY need it, but I do find it; at that point, I race outside again, then I realize that I have forgotten to brush my teeth and that I had eaten a sub with extra Jaleppsinos peppers the previous night, so I breathed on a nearby tree and it actually lost branches; I returned to the house and brushed my remaining teeth and left the house again, subsequently discovering that I was still wearing the clothes I had slept in, but by that point I didn't really give a F-Word anymore, so I kept going.
            I 'caught' the bus on the road. (Not literally, THAT actually happened to a friend of mine, and suffice it to say that he is now in a special school.......) The bus driver was kind enough to let me on board, but let me tell you that kindness from bus drivers is not something to take for granted. One day, my afternoon driver, seeing quite clearly that my hood drawstring was caught in the door, joyfully smiling at me as I was running alongside pounding on the door, floored it, breaking off the end of the string and nearly strangling me. Such a card, that bus driver! But now it's time to return to my Free Writing Topic.
            I know that the Lord will be kind to me when I die, because they say that you have to experience a wee bit of Hell before you can fully appreciate Heaven. CP Allen fits the bill perfectly. At 9 am, with a smile, a wink, and a "F-Word you!!" to the people making fun of me at the doorway, I casually stroll in.
            It is a very good thing indeed that everybody at this hellhole can at least find their way around. The lobby is always so packed that it's even impossible to see the ceiling. When picking my way through with my infallible sense of direction I occasionally catch a fleeting glimpse of a would-be Class of '79 graduate, worn and decrepit and living off the soda pop that leaks down from the second floor solarium; still trying to find his classes. In fact, I even see Cortney Oland once in a while, begging people for help, but unfortunately everyone believes that she has moved to Texas. This is the legacy of our hollowed halls.
            Mr. Whitman, our beloved principal, eventually finds me, easy for him because he has a sort of aerial view of things, and since he is less dense than some other people if you gather what I mean here, he kind of floats through the sea of arms, legs, and decomposing corpses; at that point he says in his firm yet gentle way, "Get your A-Word to class!". Unfortunately, my A-Word may already be there because I sure can't feel it!
            I eventually (9:15 am) get to class and settle into Biology12. Mr. Burke is a 'dynamic' teacher, that is, his pupils actually oscillate when he is talking, and that is a good thing because,  "... AZP -eye bulge- combines with the ARP pharmacies to form the -arm rotate- ZLRQ16 and -eye bulge- comes together to get sodium dipentium thrassish rexxus dynamicus quaddoxide and you -neck stretch- lose water which then -eye bulge-..."   it does a great deal in keeping people awake.
            After 78 minutes of taking notes that only someone with a Ph.D. in "Second Languages: Burkish" would understand, he thinks I've brainwashed them enough and says "Well, I'll leave you with that....", and that is good for him because he left his answer key at home and he was actually teaching chemistry and it will take fourteen classes just to unlearn all that junk. Mr. Burke is a "happy-go-screwball" kind of guy, though, so he just shrugs it off.
            After floating through the second floor (I'm a wee bit on the chubby [hippopotamus] side too...), I wind up, by magic, in CanadianGeography431. It is here that I write my Free Writing Topic and therefore miss the entire class.
            That wasn't too bad, though, because Mr. Hamilton is not the kind of teacher whom you would call 'attentive'. Basically, you can shoot off a firearm in his class and he wouldn't notice. There are ancient pencils and paper airplanes in the corners, people are using his classroom as a weapons cache.
            The bell 'rings', by the way, at our school, the following pretty much irons out the format of our lunchtime bell and announcements:

Oh, yes a few more announcements, there is currently a fire burning in-
....and we thought that was important. Have a good lunch!

            Anyway, the bell rings in a WHOOP WHOOP sort of way, then, using matter transmission technology, every person in the school is kept within 20 feet of me as I roam the halls so I can be constantly annoyed and hopefully I'll do something rather rash involving a sledgehammer and I'll get expelled. It IS tempting, but oh S-Word (English for 'alas'), not worth it.
            I get carried along in the human tidal wave to the Computer Labs, to have access to which I had just paid $10 for, but it turns out, boy, this only happens once in a blue moon for sure, can you believe it? The lab is closed. Woah! THAT sure suprised me! Just like yesterday! And the day before! And the day before that! And the day before that! Wait a minute, the D-Word lab's closed every day!
            So I become Mr. Nomad again (although people usually settle for calling me "Hey, Sweet Tits!". I hate those people. If I get elected student council president, I will make their lives very miserable.....) and roam the halls, even though I have nil choice as to where I go in the human current, gee, there must be a law about all that...... eventually it's time for Ms. Harbord's ART 331 class! If you need that abbreviation explained, you're wasting you're time reading this!
            Our class had a certain amount of trouble at first adjusting to the surroundings (in the same way that the North Atlantic involves a certain amount of water), but now we get along beautifully.
            There are these two girls here that are also in my GEO 431 (weapons cache) class, and they drive people crazy. As close friends, they alienate themselves from everybody else in the room, and they tend to speak in code ("Big Black Yak!! Big Black Yak!!"). It's hard to concentrate on our creative endeavors involving copying pictures out of Playboy while these two are chatting:

            "Did you hear about-"
            "Of course! The-"
            "Exactly! It's just so-"
            "I know! It never could work-"
            "Yeah? And that-"
            "Sad. She'll break her heart. But-"
            "Yeah! Maybe they'll-"
            "Just what I was thinking!"

            They spend WAY too much time with each other. Their next step is a telepathic link.
            Having the dubious distinction of never having taken ART 321 puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to art jargon. Well, at least I can draw well, but every time Ms. Harbord shows us a painting that looks like what happened when I tipped over my mom's easel, someone can come up and point out 'deviations', 'focus', 'tension', 'line', and something called 'color ballast'. When I was called upon to comment on the 'Mona Lisa' by Leopard da Very Old, all I could say was "She's kinda ugly.". Everyone laughed because they were sure I was kidding; my mom has a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Fine Arts, and they thought it rubbed off; and I didn't show them any of my drawings yet.
            I could go on for another paragraph about art, but it's time to return to my Free Writing Topic. All things being equal (tech-english for 'I need to make this sentence longer), the day is getting on. I cannot write much more. I am watching Robby Truman squeeze girls' breasts- Whoops! Gotta be more careful about how many of my thoughts and observances leak into print!
           AUTHOR'S NOTE: This essay was originally written for grading credit for English11.
            The bell rings, and I am carried around again, but this time I end up in my ENG 11 class. It was inevitable, I suppose, they all took me someplace where I didn't want to go....... BEFORE I WENT TO MY LOCKER, I MEAN!! I DIDN'T WANT TO GO TO ENGLISH BEFORE I WENT TO MY LOCKER!!
            What can I say about English11? Specifically, what can I say about it that's morally fit to write? Is it boring? Absolutely not!! Do I hate the assignments? No!! All in all, it's really the perfect class, and I wouldn't attend it in favor of a root canal.
            Once I get into English11, I keep very quiet, saying very little; I get along with my classmates; I make Crucial Positive Contributions; Mr. Hart entertains us in his debonair way; we don't go on forever about any one story or poem; and we even shed a single tear from our watery eyes as the bell rings, hesitantly leaving that wonderful class and its amazing teacher.
            As I conclude this Free Writing Topic, I reflect and pause and get frustrated when I can't think what the F-Word to write for a closing; .....and I find two things: Firstly, I believe I thoroughly enjoyed my day here at CPA, and I can't wait to top it off with ENG 11; and secondly, all this sarcasm is creatively wearing me out.
            Yeah, the day sucked. What with the mood I'm in, I hope yours does too. :-)

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