The Hive

In my house, we have exactly one scale - well, only one that can measure, support human weight. Remember in the old days, when they weighed you at the doctor's using a system that requires the nurse to move weights back and forth until she finds your weight? I suppose they still use those in some places. Anyhow, we have one of those, and there's nothing more satisfying than putting the big weight - the one that measures fifty pound increments - on 250 and watching it drop like a rock. Yes, I weighed myself this morning - 245.5 lbs. Fuck yeah - that's five fewer pounds that I have to lose before I'm sexy. ;D

I arrived at school this morning to find something that, to me, was quite pleasing. To the owner of the one-wheeled, seat-less bike that that is still in my fucking spot, I'm sure it was or will be much less pleasing. This, if nothing else, supports my vigilante theory. I expect to arrive at school on Monday to find the front wheel missing. I'll be sad if it isn't. As a result of this epic turn of events, I've been randomly blurting out, "Karma's a bitch! >8D" all day.

As you know, we're doing badminton in P.E. Today Steven and I basically agreed that we didn't want to play by the rules and just wanted to have fun and move around, get a work out, you know? No. We didn't get to. Our first match we got paired up with a pair of girls who, for whatever reason, seemed to find the fact that we (a) don't know the rules for shit and (b) don't give a shit about them to be offensive in some way. They, of course, won the match. And we got to have fun playing with a team that didn't mind not playing by the rules. Everything was looking up, until the first team lost and then ended up against us again. So we did the intelligent thing and calmly attempt to explain that they're going to win anyway, so we should just have fun batting the birdie around, yeah? As if. No. We had to play by the rules - which I feel ruins the game, since the rules are retarded, anyway.

By this point I was kind of pissed off, which brought out my asstastically competitive side. If I got the chance, I attempted to spike that damn birdie, and I scored at least four points, much to my satisfaction, getting that aerodynamically retarded "ball" past them and to the ground. I like to think I won, regardless of whether or not I did, because my ego needs it.

Moving on.

Chamber choir has shown a dramatic improvement over the last two years. Wait. did I say improvement? I mean to say that we've gone from being pretty damn amazing - before my time, sadly - to, in my opinion, sub-par. This is not for lack of trying on my part. It's the hive. Our teacher claims that we have promise but, honestly, what we have is "talent," or the intrinsic ability to be able to sing in a  slightly more pleasant manner than the intermediate group. The fact of the matter is, half the class rarely learns their music on time, forcing the rest of us to look equally as retarded as them on stage because we have to maintain some measure of congruity. I've come to realize the these girls all have something in common - they never shut up. The worst offenders are the alarmingly large group of cheerleaders in the alto section.

These girls are, in all honesty, scary. They spew a constant stream of shallow, stupid thoughts into the air. Merely being able to hear their chatter is enough to prompt a brain tumor to sprout. If you say something even vaguely intelligent to them, they assume this eerie, blank expression for the next ten to twenty seconds while their woefully underpowered processors attempt to process the words that just came out of your mouth. It's rumored that, in this moment, you can look directly in their eyes and see the empty space where their soul and their brain should be.

They do not understand simple concepts. You are, out of respect, supposed to shut the hell up while JROTC does their thing with the flags. But, tonight, during out dress rehearsal, not only did these girls refuse to shut up, they were also glued to their cellphones the entire time. If we hadn't been in the middle of rehearsal, I would have verbally kicked their asses. "Hey, you guys, yeah, you. Are you complete fucktards? Do you know how disrespectful it is to the country and the ladies arranging the flags over there when you talk while they're doing their thing? Shut the fuck up or, so help me, I will cut you." Twenty second later, after I've had plenty of time to confirm that their brains are, indeed, missing, I like to think that they would have been so dumbfounded by my mastery of words that they'd shut up entirely. Possibly forever. More likely, however, is the possibility of all six of them turning on me like the hive they imitate, because they feel threatened by my almighty powers of simple logic.

The topic of Twilight once came up while I could hear them and, unable to resist humiliating a twitard, I proceeded to berate them with logical reasons for why the books suck - if you're interested in these arguments, search for Arzim's Rebuttals. In the end they, hilariously, resorted to insulting the work of better writers, claiming that Christopher Paolini can't write, which is just sad, because these girls have obviously never read a good book in their life and would not know one if it stabbed them thirty-seven times in the chest with an eggplant.

Since I spent such a huge part of today being more than a little pissed off, I'm guessing that this post came out a little less amusing than I would have hoped. I do hope you all realize that, while the cheerleaders in choir are complete idiots, I know that some aren't. Some of them can add.