I am working on an art history report, and I feel certain and sure that I am doing it wrong. This is not funny, guys. Not at all. I had a 94, but then I got a four on that one test, and my grade probably went down to about a 92, and now I need to do really well on this paper or I am dead in the water. And I think I am doing it wrong. So.
Although I thought that about the last one and I got 100... But let us not speculate.
I had to sing at the band concert tonight. It was very heinous. I may be a picky, tight ass bastard, but even the most incompetent and tone deaf audience member should agree with my solemn pronouncements and be able to recognize how out of tune the "music" was. It took all my will power to not snatch the violins from their very hands and tune them myself. They were so flat I thought I could see the end of the horizon- and there was nothing there but desolation and dissonance. Damn, that sounds reeeal good. Maybe I should become an author in my old age. I will write dramatic novels about myself and my fellow Supreme Court justices, and the American public will finally know our names. Maybe I'll stick some congressmen in there if they invite us out to eat with their PACS a couple times. It will be called Courtship-the Untold Story of American Government, and will involve scintillating, steamy, and completely fallacious accounts of judicial love and passion. It will be a best seller immediately. Man, I can't wait to be rich...I will donate to people and start community music programs and not give a red penny to anyone white and be just a really nice philanthropic philanthropic overall. And when I die, I will leave my immense wealth to one lucky individual and change their life forever (since I will have no children and no husband and will be as lonely as Slenderman). It will be a beautiful thing. Maybe they will write a novel as well.
Fish Face is becoming quite the annoying little brat. He keeps trying to talk to me and all, and I think it's out of pity because I am so forever alone. Surely it can't be because of my engaging and witty dialogue. I usually say insulting things. Now, why do I do that? That ain't so polite. I think it may be because I don't like him. That could be a good reason. Still, maybe I should take a manners class so that I do not offend his mortal soul. It doesn't matter though. He will continue to think that I am cute and sweet and quiet and shy until the end of time. And I know this because he keeps saying it. Constantly. And he won't stop staring at me at random times (usually when I am making a particularly derpy face), probably just to make me feel awkward. Damn! This man, man. I don't know what to do with my life anymore.
Oooooh, it's more than a feelingggg, more than a feeling! She slipped awaayyyyyy!Yeeeeah! What is wrong with me. My taste in music has become shittier by the day. Soon I will be listening to One Direction and lauding Justin Bieber as good. Damn, this is why we can't have nice things. Effff.
We sang in calc today (and have for the past few days) to get extra credit. S-hole sang too, and he actually can sing. SO annoying! The little twerp! That's my territory! I oughtta smack the sense out of you! (Is that the phrase? I am beginning to doubt...) He knows I'm in choir, too. I know this cuz he talked to me. WHAT IS GOING ON. How does he know about my life and why is he being friendly? Does he not hate me like I hate him? What is life?! WHO KILLED CECILIA??! There are things we must know here.
Now I'm listening to music from Spirited Away. MY CHILDHOOD. OMUGAH. THE FEELS. Why do I do this to myself? I'm going to have to go punch rocks outside now just to get my sense of male dignity back, and I don't like doing that. Breaks my nails, ya see. Oh my, oh my. I just realized how impending is my doom. Tis 11:45, and I must finish my paper. I hate life. Gon' punch it in the face. Or perhaps the ballsack. But something, anyway. Before that propitious and beautiful occurrence, though, I really must finish my paper, so I must bid you adieu. Bon soir!
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