Post Graduation Reflection

School is finally over. Hooray.

Not much to say really, though something’s been bugging me for a while. I think I should have published this earlier, but never really got around to it, seeing as it was originally written during a ranting fit, and therefore typographically unrefined. As you can see, it is rather long, and it took a while until I bothered editing this.

Anyway, during this past semester—our last semester of our senior year—I experienced something I know I will never experience again. I felt what it was like to be at the exact moment time ceased to be, just for a moment in the fabric of the universe. And wouldn’t you know it, this happened in math class. More specifically, Venturo’s math class.

I can’t tell you exactly what date it was, seeing as how time ceased to be for that moment—and I’m speaking relatively here, because words like “moment” or “day” really can’t be used to describe a point in time that never existed. I went into my period 1 class, math studies 11. There’s a part of me that wishes I had moved on to math studies 12 and stayed in Mueller’s class, but seeing as how I failed the second semester the first time around, there wasn’t a chance in hell I would have survived.

Anyway, I went into Venturo’s class. I was just expecting another of his monotonous droning (the guy talks like a broken German Macintosh). How wrong I was.

On one of the tables at the front of the class was a laptop, and on its monitor was a web page on statistics. I knew that was what we should have been studying so I didn’t really care. Next to that table, however, was one of those wheeled thingamajigs where you have the overhead projector, and on top of it… was the overhead projector—what else?

The laptop and the overhead projector. Individually, they are harmless. Together, they can destroy the very fabric of the cosmos. You see, I figured Venturo wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but even I did not expect this from him. After class started, he gave us work to do. During that time, this is what I saw him do.

He placed the laptop next to the overhead projector. Then, he turned on the overhead projector. He then turned around, and looked at the board, where there was only the orange square of light. He then put the laptop on the overhead projector, where you place the sheets to write on. Then, he turned on the overhead projector again, and turned around, and looked at the board. Then, he put the laptop on the table adjacent to the overhead projector, aimed the projector at the laptop, turned it on—and then… he looked at the board.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOUR PARENTS PAID TO HAVE YOU GO TO THAT SCHOOL? I don’t know the exact amount, but I know it was a shitload! If they didn’t have a job, they would have had to suck a lot of cock to send you there. They would have had to suck more cocks than an 8 year old Vietnamese boy in a massage parlor. They would have had to suck more cocks than a junkie in a crackhouse—and trust me folks, there’s a lot of cocks to be sucked in a crackhouse. Actually, don’t trust me on that. I’m not a reliable source. I wouldn’t know. Nope.

>_>

So for all anyone cares, your parents could be sucking dick to send you to that school, and that jackass can’t even use an overhead projector? He may as well have tried to write on the whiteboard with chalk. What fucking cave did he jerk himself out of? What. The. FUCK. Is wrong with him? He has a cell phone, so he can’t be completely out of touch with reality, if that even exists anymore. He carries it around in that little retard cell phone case on his belt. Might as well carry around a fanny pack filled with Cheetos. He never leaves that class except to take a shit during lunch, what the hell does he need that for anyway?

You know what I think he is? I think he’s some fucking freshmen’s science project gone wrong. He probably pissed on a petri dish and mixed it with regurgitated cum he got from his daddy, and when he woke up the next morning, Venturo was there with a little cell phone stuck to the side of his ass, skullfucking the family dog, and talking to a fucking Macintosh.

If you’re very careful, when you’re talking to Venturo face to face, you can hear an echo coming from his nostrils.