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twelfth, apr more frequently now than ever, i have considered starting a class war. but i keep getting caught on the first question: how does one go about starting a class war? what is it? fucking parents night at the university? i'd rather not serve all your bronzed moms in their polo shirts, their republican statures, until they realize that we civilized people created a concept many thousands of years ago and we decided to call it "TIPPING". fucking wrinkled hags! cover up your flabby arms and i'll gladly take that as my 15%! sometimes, as i am forced to look at college students much too regularly, i am filled with a strange pride that i'm not one: in the day light, many of them cannot hide the pitifully awkward high schoolers that they are. i guess some people are perpetually living out this dumbass phase like saved by the bell reruns. do you know what i'm saying? i guess that makes me the lunch lady in this sad game i couldn't sit out of. i feel trapped in a reality i wish i could change; there are simply too many fuckers in the way keeping the cage together. regardless, i'm glad i can understand the hatred that fills lunch ladies' hearts. it's like speaking a language, really. once you get it, you get it. only you have to get it first. |