Wednesday, Aug. 04, 2004
11:03 p.m.
<< [ Perfectly Content ] >>
You are not weird.
You are fifteen years old. You have your honors classes and your designer shoes and your perfect fifty two dollar hairstyle. You have your ideal boyfriend [you know, the one you dated for a year; the one that broke up with you because you're shallow and empty. He didn't tell you that, of course, but that was the reason, babe] and your happy, loving family. Oh wait, wait, I'm sorry, maybe it's really difficult to deal with parents who took away your phone because you got bad grades.
Excuse me while I vomit sympathetically.
But no, you're so "weird" and "different" and "no one understands [you]", because you suffer from the occasional bout of teen angst, or because you get the urge to hang out with friends and act retarded. Well, okay, not retarded. You just act your own age.
Yes. Soooo weird. OMG LOL!!!1!one!
Fuck. And you know what's the fucking kicker about all of this?
It's people like you that will run the world. It's people like you that will get the medical degrees, the law degrees, the big bucks, the power to move and shape the world in which we live.
It's people like you that are destroying everything. You know how to manipulate the system, and you do so, not to change it later on down the line, but in order to get to your BMWs and your stereo systems, your houses in suburbia with your white picket fences, two children, and a dog named Sparky.
All I have to say is, I hope it feels good.
I hope you fucking enjoy it. After all, you earned it, right?
Right.
Just something for you to think about when you wake up in twenty years trying to pinpoint the exact moment you became a waste of oxygen.