• 2/23/09
    Galligan's High School
    -------------------------------

    [Random scribbles of "I hate that I have to write about my shitty life" and "F U Mr. Watson are written messily on the top of the journal entry]

    These journal assignments are s**t, you do not even check them Mr. Watson. What you do is take a brief look at the middle of the stupid journal. And every time I have to always write a full blown story for you. And for that, screw you.



    I looked at the clock.
I think the clock hated me.


    "Wow..." I said to myself. "A whole 'nother hour in this class. It feels like we should be leaving to go home now."


    I was in my third period class: math. How I loathed that class the most out of all of them. My hand cramped from writing all the idiotic notes. The funny thing is I have a pretty good grade in this class. The teacher, however, if you did one thing wrong, he talked to as if you are failing the class and throwing paper airplanes every second.



    In this class, I have some people to talk to, but barely, since the teacher is completely a**l about having the room like a library being run by terror policemen. The class seemed like a room in an asylum too. It was small, white, and basically four walls. The lights blinked from being old and having not been replaced correctly. When class gets boring, sometimes I may turn around to make a gun gesture to my head. The kids can only smile and look back to the board and that would be the end of that discussion. Oh, did I mention you get in trouble for not saying excuse me after you hiccup? What a joke...


    "I hate this class so much, I am so going to shank myself." I said mumbling quietly to myself. The teacher turned around from the board while writing a long-a** problem. "Sam, be quiet or else you will cost us time after class." At those words, I slumped in my seat, letting off a deep groan. It was pretty pissy, I have to admit.

    The teacher gave me the eye and wrote a one on the board, meaning "one minute" on the board. YEAH GREAT! Why not keep just keep me in the class, not the whole god damn class. I mean, even if I was a "delinquent", why would you keep the class in? Wouldn't you want me out of your damn classroom? It is high-school after all. Do you know all the crazy stuff "us delinquents" could do? We could find your car's license plate, trace your house and jack your life up. Does he want that to happen?" 


    Of course that wasn't going to happen, but I like fantasizing about doing that stuff. I think it is not that bad to only THINK about doing harm to people rather than actually physically hurting them. It seems bad and all that I am telling you this, but it is actually not that bad in reality, when you think about it.

    Some people turned at me and gave me THE LOOK at my mishap. It was the kind of look that signified that if I dropped dead on the floor right then, they would not call 911. I wanted to tell them to all kiss my aunt fanny, but I guess that would cost two more minutes then. Oh BOO HOO, one minute, cry me a river you little bastards.

My phone vibrated. I could tell it was a text message, it only rumbled twice. One thing I could get away with in this class was actually replying to texts. Our teacher did say once that he could see when we text, but, UH DUH, that is only when the bluetooth is on. Nice try, (doesn't have to click anything since the bluetooth is already off on my phone) but you cannot catch me jackass!



    I stealthily looked at the text message, and once in a while, looked up, trying to check if the teacher was looking, or if any little jerk-wad students were going to tell on me. Not saying they would, because it is unlikely something like that would happen in high school. Oh well, I was born paranoid and it will live with me till I die.

    Anyways, the message read: "Hey Sam, wanna hang out?"

    A few buttons later, I reply with: "Sure... when?"

    It took a couple minutes for a reply, but once it appeared, it read: "Now, I am in the parking lot already."



    I put my phone back in my pocket, and after a few seconds I smiled and shook my head in slight relief. I stood up from my desk and quickly took a hall pass, another advantage I had in this horrific class. I did not even wait for the teacher to stop me, because we were in "the middle of a lesson." What a ridiculous excuse the teacher always used. It was review today anyway.

    Even though I acted "rebellious" in my classes, I still looked like a good student outside of class. The proctors never suspect a damn thing. Well, it is not like those fat asses do anything anyway. I swear, they get payed to stand and yell "TWO MINUTES TO CLASS!!!" when we really have five.

Good thing I did not have any books to carry home. I did need any for tomorrow, besides a reading book for English, but that was at home already. I forget what the book was about. Probably about some prostitute. No, I really am kidding. I use that excuse a lot with my friends. When my friends ask me where I have been, I usually say, "I was with a prostitute, why?" I do not know why I say that. Maybe I adored that word ever since I learned it.



    I walked into the parking lot of the school and saw my friend. He waved at me but I did not wave back. I was too busy walking quickly to the vehicle. I got into the car and yelled in a comedic, over-exaggerated way, "Get me tha hell outta here!" Out we drove, not being caught by any one of the lazy proctors, out to wherever we wanted to go.