I Hate It Here

I hate it here; this school drives me insane. The bureaucracy of the administration, the ignorance of the teachers, and the stupidity of my fellow students leads me to one question: why do I come here day after day? I don’t like it -- you’d figure that if I had gone somewhere everyday for four years I would like it a little bit. Well no. I don’t. I can’t stand it; I want to leave everyday I’m here and never come back. Sometimes I have to leave class to get something and I think “why don’t I just go home and stay there?” I don’t even know the answer. It could be because I want an education, but I already have most of my education completed, I’m sure that I could swing it somehow without coming back here everyday. You might say I keep coming back because I have friends here, and this is true. But tell me I couldn’t find time out of my day to see them otherwise. You might say I return because I’m a goddamn masochist.

That would be more like it. There’s a member of staff, and he’s the king of the cafeteria’s stage. Let’s just call him Mr. Bushes. If you ever do something on his stage that he judges wrong, you will be stricken with his fascist, anal retentive wrath. One time I was standing on the stage near the stairs, Mr. Bushes walks up and says “hey, why are you standing there, stand over there” and points about five feet to my left. I didn’t know him, I had nothing to do with him, and if I moved I would be in about the same relation to the stairs, but he decided to insist. What a fascist, that he has to exhibit his great powers by bossing students around on the stage. The first day back at the school, my chum and I were crossing the stage and this troll of the stage came out from under it, telling us that he was going to eat us if we didn’t get off the stage. The first day and they’re already making me hate this school.

I remember when I first got here -- life with the big kids. It wasn’t very impressive at all. Just an excuse for people to act like they’re all grown up when all they really do is have sex and drink a little. It’s the same way now; try and talk to the big kids, let the conversation flow freely, have a good time with it, and you’ll probably find that they can’t follow your train of thought, they won’t recognize satire. On an unrelated note, I distinctly remember English class teaching me the definition of irony in grades nine through twelve, so why do so many students mindlessly refer to everything as being ironic. Do you even remember what irony is?

What about all the students I hate? There are quite a few of them, I must tell you. When did they decide that I like them? I never pretended like I did, or I haven’t pretended in years. Why do they go to this school? Why don’t they go somewhere else where I don’t have to see them? I’d much prefer it that way. Hey you out there, reading this. If you think I don’t like you switch schools, please. It’s just for the best. I don’t want to see you ever again. Move to Uganda… now wait, I don’t want to stick the Ugandans with pretending they like you as well. Just go home, leave now. I don’t want to see you again. Go Home. And people say one man can’t make a difference.