A Slightly Sarcastic Saturday

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Why must people insist on being so damn useless? Seriously now. Teenagers aren't the biggest contributors of usefulness in our society. But aren't they supposed to maintain at least a smidgen of usefulness? That doesn't seem to be the case with the diverse variety of morons at my high school. I sometimes regret not taking my parents up on the offer to attend a magnet school. At least those morons are slightly more intelligent.

Why are my panties in such a knot today? Oh don't you worry about asking that! I am about to spill the biggest fucking can of beans! You might could call it a tank of beans! Not funny? Yeah, didn't think so. Anyway, today I am using a full trash can as a metaphor for the numb-skulls I attend school with, as well as the school itself. Wonder what my therapist will think if she ever reads this? I can see myself in a white gown with thick socks on, picking up my daily meds from a creepy looking nurse with a mole the size of a plum under her eye.

As I said, my high school is a giant fucking trash can. The exterior is dull and lifeless. On the inside it reeks of week old leftovers and rotten vegetables. The contents are of a wide variety but they all smell of the same shit. The typical and regular kids make up the bulk of this trash can, but the few interesting people bring out that sweet stink that your nostrils cannot bare to smell.
First on my list of useless morons that make my life a living shit hole is Marcus Gibson. He's what I like to think of as the banana peel in the trash can. Fairly normal on the outside, but slimy and disgusting on the inside. Most would assume that this freak is your average nerd with the intelligence of Albert Einstein to the fifth power. However, he does not fit that mold. Instead, he is your not so typical perverted sex addict(even though he's a virgin) of average intelligence. At this moment, two rows away and one desk up, Marcus is ignoring our history teacher and drawing a pair of over-sized tits on his desk.

Since elementary school, I have been drooled over and later on(in his middle school years) masturbated to, by the likes of Marcus Gibson. Many late nights/early mornings my cellphone has danced to the tune of a blocked number with Marcus on the end of the receiver. Perverted notes of lust and longing have been left on my locker door. He is more than a stalker you see. In fact, Marcus Gibson has a class of his very own. He outranks even the best and most experienced stalkers of today. And that is a very terrifying realization for anyone Marcus deems "prey".
I'm sure you're wondering what could be worse than Marcus Gibson. You have probably assumed that I listed him first because he was the least of my worries. Well you're wrong, jackass. Marcus is the most of my worries and I couldn't bare to list him last, due to the anxiety it would cause. Therefore, he has been listed first. Which you might think is very unorthodox. But let me tell you something my friend; I am a very unorthodox bitch!

Next on my list is Connie Whore-monger. I Mean Connie Eastland. Here we go again with the presumptions. No, she is not my arch rival who is head of the cheer leading squad. And her interests and hobbies do not include having a wardrobe of entirely pink clothing and tormenting me every chance she gets. Connie is what we call the coffee grounds of the trash can. Like the whore she is, Connie has a fascination with spreading her contents throughout this dump we call school. But why should I hate Connie so very much for being a dirty rotten whore? I mean her daily activities that include but are not limited to whoring herself out and being a dimwit should be none of my business, right? WRONG! Wrong I say! Don't make me capitalize it again, because that's annoying.
The root of why I wish Connie would contract aids and live a solitary life in a single-wide trailer comes directly from the fact that any guy I have every dated either slept with Connie at least once before we got together, cheated on me to sleep with her or slept with her after we dated. Seriously! I can't rid myself of the whore that is Connie Eastland!

Not only is she the biggest sluttastrophe(yes I made that up in her honor) on the face of this planet, she's got quite a knack for making a fool of herself. Let's talk Facebook. Ah the social network of the Internet; wiping out the gutters of Myspace. Status updating could be social suicide depending on how you go about it. And let's just say, Connie should be dead right now. And I don't mean a shallow death from natural causes. I mean dead like a squished bug on linoleum! Just let me tell you why. Connie is one of those slutty teenagers who seems to be the life of every party. She doesn't roll with girly drinks, oh no. She is the queen of hard liquor. And it isn't necessarily because she enjoys the taste. I like to believe she enjoys the attention(good or bad) she receives from being a sloppy drunk, slut bucket. Why is this fact(yes it is a fact. I don't get down with rumors) relevant to Facebook? That's the funny part where social suicide should smack her in the tit. After having a shot too many, Connie spills her guts on Facebook, mainly cursing every guy she's ever been with, whilst still attempting to maintain the idea that she doesn't give a shit about them. And the funniest thing of all is that people don't see what a hypocritical, cock sucking, clingy little whore she is. Ugh!

You're probably raising a brow and thinking I must be jealous of this questionable attention she's receiving and that I shouldn't be wasting my efforts speaking about her. Well let me tell you something oh wise one. My therapist insists that I should jot down(in detail) anything and everything that weighs on my mind. Whether that be the death of Avery or how I got a chunk of Jolly Rancher stuck in my teeth. Anywho, Connie bothers me so terribly much because despite all the stupid things she does, people just look past it. She could sleep with the entire city council(which she probably has) and no one will call her a whore...except me. Yet if a girl the same age as Connie so much as hints that she and her boyfriend of over a year finally did the deed, she gets called the class whore. The lines are a bit blurred here, are they not? And I think before I decide to use this pencil to gauge Connie's eyes out, I should move the final piece of metaphorical garbage on my list.

The least of my problems, but still a bother to me is quite as stereotypical as you would assume. He's the sweet and stinky smell the lot of rubbish gives off. He's sweet but his deceptions are what make him stinky. His name is Declan Richards and as a key player for our high school soccer team who boasts devastating good looks, he's quite sought after by the female population. The only thing you wouldn't expect from him, is his attitude. Which is a polar opposite of your typical cocky jock. He's pretty humble, decently intelligent and doesn't resort to tormenting other people in hopes of making himself feel better. After learning all of these great things about the Almighty Declan, you're probably curious as to why he irks me so. Declan is in love with me. Okay, maybe not head over soccer cleats in love with me, but he definitely has a thing for the delightfully sarcastic AbyieSaturday. So why don't I just date the hunk? Because he refuses to admit that he has any feelings! No, I didn't directly ask him, but it's so fucking obvious! I sometimes catch him staring at me. No, not like the creepy love interest in chick flicks; he doesn't gaze into my soul. But his eyes are on me. We rarely talk. In fact, we're not even friends. And before you make some disgusting connection, him and Connie have nothing going on. I secretly think he shares my same opinions about her. The rest of these little instances I have witnessed about Declan, I can't quite describe to you in a way that make you agree with me. Instead, you'll have to witness them for yourself.
So my novel of the metaphorical trash can is complete. Let's face it, I suck at conclusions.


I'm Abyie Saturday, and I approve this message.