Elitists: Remnants of the Old, Chivalrous World...Before It Went To Hell

You suck. You and all those like you. Now devoid of the soul you so eagerly sold to Satan, you are like a demonic succubus rife with black blood brewed only in the fiery depths of hell. Was it worth it? I thought not. Like a slimy tapeworm, your only pleasure is to (figuratively) burrow into my digestive tract and filch away my precious nutrients. Luckily, you are barred by your sheer enormity. As a parasite, you prey on those stronger than you; that is, those of a more elite and pristine class than yourself. And as a member of that class (AP students, NHS members and the like), I am personally offended that you think you can just ride on the coattails of those who, lets face it, are genetically superior to you. We are intelligent; therefore we cannot busy ourselves interacting with an ingrate like you. You are an anchor, only hindering the immaculate yacht that symbolizes none other than I, the Sūd'n-ĭm'. I only want to sail under azure skies, through unmuddied waters, the salty wind in my hair, with a beautiful woman by my side. Why do you insist on stopping me?

But that aside, my point is I am smart, and therefore better than you. For example, I got a 35 on my ACT. Yeah, that’s right. And because I got a good score, I can only assume that I am good. Despite my cockiness, I wasn’t entirely confident in my qualities as a human being until the College Board conveniently assigned them a comprehensive numerical value. You on the other hand are nothing. You serve only one function, and that is increasing my class rank. The entire college world is my oyster, and I prefer oysters with cocktail sauce (i.e. a prestigious pre-med program).

I will leave you with the most important axiom of the National Honor Society, "Exclude all those whom you find meek, inferior, or in some other way objectionable." Words to live by.

Prom: A School-Sponsored Sexual Epiphany

My father was a stern man. He would scrutinize my every action, accusing me of being inadequate. He would lock me up for days, ignoring my requests for fluids by asserting that only the weak thirst. He even whipped me on my first day of Kindergarten, just to teach me about the "cruel world in which we live." Oh, how I despised him. As a result of my childhood I am callous and aloof, incapable of expressing any emotion. To top it all off, my lack of human contact has left me psychosexually infantile. I remain polymorphous perverse; my sexual tendencies are confused and indiscriminate. Yet paradoxically, as my libido is hidden in the darkest realms of my psyche, I am physically incapable of love. Any positive feelings I have for a person are snuffed out by my crippling narcissism.

Fortunately, however, my neurosis is not without cure. You see, I am normally forced to release my pent up aggression and egotism by dealing with a pimp by the name of Lil’ Biggie, but prom is nearing. I will gladly pay the school 75 dollars to release some sexual energy. As Lil’ Biggie always says, " there’s nothing like an immature, yet socially normative, sexually gratifying experience to cure what ails ya." What is considered a social faux pas every other day of the year will be not only accepted, but also tacitly encouraged by the school administration this Saturday. But who’s complaining? It is juxtaposition of sweat, sound, light and shadow. An opportune chance to be introspective, finally conscious of my being, trapped in a cycle of existential angst, a perpetual state of becoming… plus I just really like to dance. The beat is irresistible. An overflowing well will finally be tapped. At last, my teen sexuality will be exploited. In the immortal words of Marvin Gaye, "lets get it on."

To: The World, From: 952-451-3411

A gangrenous wound has spread over the masses; from the cultured nobles to the simple yeomen. A black and detestable cancer threatens the very existence of society as we know it. Solitude, and its heinous agents of tranquillity are always lurking the streets, seeking to promote their quiet, reflective agenda. I’ve seen it with mine own eyes. I do not mean to fear-monger, but the fact is you should be afraid. They take a man and suck out his soul, and what is left can hardly be called human. He becomes an anti-social parasite; an egregious thing that can only quote Thoreau, sit quietly, and listen to Kenny G. Hark! Do not fall prey to this vile and odious temptress.

But fear not world! Do not give up on the talkative, prefrontal cortex-less life we have made for ourselves. I have recently been made aware of a means to combat this Axis-of-Silence that threatens us: texting. Not since the days of Sammy Morse or John C. Telephone have we been graced with such an effective mechanism to avoid near-tranquil experiences. If you feel the sudden urge to take stock of your life, or contemplate the existence of God, stop! Let the soothing powers of mindless drawl with casual acquaintances release you from your taciturn trance.

So I say to you, world, unsheathe your cell phones. Ask countless friends and acquaintances what is "sup". Let your ringtone be a melodic symbol of brotherhood. Do whatever you must do to counter this dangerous beast that seeks to silence you. With this resource at our disposal, I believe we can make serenity a thing of the past. Do not think, Text!

Where Da Beer At?

Let me get this out of the way, I love beer. I love the way it tastes, I love the way it allows me to suspend my decision making ability, and most of all, I love it because people tell me to love it. And people are always right. Beer is the superior drink fermented from a starch-based material, hands down. It is one frothy temptress I cannot resist. It also serves as a great way to be insubordinate, which is helpful because my parents are super hard on me, I swear. (Take that ones that birthed me, I’ll gratify my id whenever I please.) Use it like those noble Bostonians used tea in the 1700’s; drink a lot of it. That’s one tea party I would have liked to be at.

But I digress. The point is that beer tastes spectacular. It tastes a lot like yeast excrement. Who knew that the waste products of a common leavening agent could make me want to smack my lips in satisfaction and let out a quiet, "ahhh"? Research compiled by high schools and colleges around the country reports that beer is also pleasing to the taste buds: through a funnel, while playing ping-pong, after learning you have cirrhosis of the liver, and after a "good cry." And although I don’t specifically recall how beer makes me feel, I was apparently overheard last Saturday saying it made me feel "good". What I do remember is sensing a rumble in my stomach and being excited; finally the moment I had been waiting for had arrived. I sauntered into the bathroom, leaned over, and expelled the contents of my stomach. "This is fantastic! I should really do this more often," I considered as I laid my head against the cold, tile bathroom floor.

But more than anything, I love the sense of belonging beer gives me. At every party I go to, I look around after I am double-dog dared into drinking so much that I eject my stomach acids through my mouth in a series of spastic movements, and think, "Wow, these people really care about my well being. Isn’t it great to have friends!"

But all this writing is making me thirsty. Why am I doin’ all this a-talkin’ when there’s beer to be a-drinkin’?

Obama, Hillary, McCain… De Plume?

In this period of political turmoil, all the wrong questions are being asked. Questions like “Who has a realistic exit strategy for Iraq ” or “Who can prevent us from sliding into a economic recession” are of no help to anyone. The question that America must ask itself is, “Why don’t we give up this whole Democratic election charade and just give Norm De Plume the position of Supreme Chancellor for Life?” Good Question.

Norm “the Constitution” De Plume was born the son of a poor sharecropping farmer in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Despite his father’s insistence that he get trapped in the family’s vicious cycle of poverty and exploitation, Norm became a lawyer. Living up to his nickname, he is now attempting to win the Presidential election as the candidate for the Post-Bill of Rights Amendments Party; so named because he believes that America must look to amendments 11-27 as a source of stability and strength. I support Norm for President because of the nuances of his straightforward platform, and his pragmatically idealistic attitude.

As any good cook understands, “you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelet.” Using his passion for cooking as a model for his politics, Norm knows he must “crack a few skulls to keep illegal immigrants from stealing American jobs.” He has proposed that the government set aside 10 billion dollars to build a “really big fence” at the 49^th parallel and “keep those sneaky Canadians where they belong.” When his opponents suggested that a fence would surely not cost 10 billion, and that the 49^th parallel is hardly the place to put it, he calmly replied, “don’t argue with ‘the Constitution’.” When it comes to the environment, Norm is a self-proclaimed tree-hugger. Granted, he is also a seal-clubbing enthusiast, world renowned for being merciless, and for his indiscriminate use of the whirly-bird, a technique in which the flogger carries a club in both hands and spins like a top, aiming for the heads. As a member of the Religious right, Norm will push for an amendment that outlaws marriages between people who are lactose intolerant. Explaining his position further, Norm was quoted as saying, “ I just believe that marriage is between a man and a woman who can both comfortably digest dairy. I suppose if they really want they can have civil unions, but God defines marriage as something exclusively for those of us who can enjoy the occasional scoop of ice cream.” Also, Norm intends to ban satirical pamphlets, saying he “[doesn’t] get them.”

If I haven’t convinced you that Norm is the best man for the job, then I encourage you to take heed the words of your fellow classmate and demigod, Ethan Lang. “I hereby endorse [Norm De Plume] for president.” A man of few, but well chosen, words.

Facebook: Empowering Extroverted Hermits

There I was, conversing in an auditory, face-to-face manner, naïve to the social utopia that was right in front of me. Facebook, an amazing online super-highway of friendship and sociability was revealed to me and opened my eyes. Now nothing could make me return to that primitive form of communication and all its detestable duties, including, but not limited to, eye contact, and the occasional pat on the shoulder. Long gone are the days of measuring popularity by the general feeling towards a particular person. Instead, I now sit back, awe inspired at the previously unattainable number of friends a human can have. God willing, the fluid within my cochlea will never again be vibrated, indicating to my brain that an organic being is attempting to communicate with me.

In the pre-Facebook days, or as I now refer to them, the Dark Ages, one would have to spend countless hours either trying to make friends in person (which is wildly inefficient), or try to navigate through the dank, confusing jungle that is MySpace. But now, due to this remarkable innovation, even a lonely lighthouse keeper or a troglodytic cave dweller can have hundreds of friends, exchange pictures, and playfully “poke” their love interests.

However, the best part of Facebook is that it takes all the work out of relationships. It shows me how to interact with people, subtly suggesting that I write on someone’s wall, or attempt to make him or her laugh by drawing them a zany picture. But, although Facebook is a great asset, relationships are still hard. My hope is that one day the technology will advance further and I will be able to gain a sense of belonging intravenously.

Self Actualization, Catharsis, Euphoria, and Uggs©

A new fashion trend has swept the nation. Uggs, a style of sheepskin boot, have become, in my humble opinion, the single most important clothing advancement in human history. For only about $150 (which could buy 2 life-giving goats in a developing country, so they have to be good!) you can now have a soft, comfortable boot that both keeps your feet warm in winter, and is breathable in the summer. And the best part is, they go with everything! No longer do you have to spend tireless hours finding the right shoes for those lowrider jeans that you love so much. Just go ahead and tuck them into your Uggs. Now, due to this amazing advancement you can be rid of all that irksome individuality that has pestered you for years.

Also, because they are made of sheepskin, they aren’t harmful to the environment. Although sheep apparently have a natural affinity for being covered in wool, due to the effects of Global Warming they seem to be distancing themselves from that stereotype. Smooth appears to be all the rave in the sheep community these days.

So if the “Man” tries to impose a tyrannical school uniform upon you, tell him that you refuse to submit. Tell him he has no right to make us all the same, and take away our opportunity to jump on the latest fashion trend. Tell him that Uggs provide you with a level of social uniformity that a uniform never could.