No me gusto hablar en Español. ¿Por que? Porque...

At the beginning of my high school career as a bottom of the barrel "frosh", I expected nothing more than to hear a bunch of jibba-jabba in Spanish 1. I soon came to realize, as did Nesi, that we had become notorious for mastering the vocab in very little time. Well, to make a long story short...I HATE SPANISH. I had to do a project that involved me making a restaurant menu based on Bolivian cuisine..."what's up wit dat?" -Hurricane Helms ^_^

Doing that project from 4:30 - 9:30 doesn't make me a happy camper. It wasted precious gaming time that I could've spent on the sweet ass ASB 2004 game I rented...which is due back tomorrow...DOH!!! Hell, I'll probably just go out and buy the damn game soon.

I am glad to see that everything is back to normal in the BHC, or at least for me it is. Yeah sure, I still may be opposed to cheatting and whatnot, but if it causes as much controversy as it did a couple days ago...all I have to say is "FUCK IT!" I'd rather not waste me time on something that I can't physically prove possible about someone else cheating. I've been wanting to take some time off of playing MoH as of recently and want to spend more quality time on some quality games I have, like Splinter Cell, Hitman 2, Animal Crossing, ASB 2004, etc. I tend to get bored playing MoH all the time and has become a recent annoyance to me when I play it.

O yeah, here's the poem I turned into Ms. Favret (see below), which she amazingly approved of. She said that next time I should try to pick an actual poem and I told her I could easily get one tonight, but then she said that it was ok. I was like WTF? Is she trying to make me feel guilty or something? Whatever, I don't care. English is such a shitty topic, as well as a shitty class. It seems like everytime I have an opinion, it's always wrong. Ms Conway questioned me in that stupid letter I wrote for her last week about how can you be wrong about an opinion. Well this proves it right here. I tell one of the two teachers what I think the book means, what symbolizes what, what the poem means, etc. and I always happen to get it wrong.

O well, 3 more months and no more femi-nazi. Yay.

Ok, sleepy time. *yawn*pkfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffsj Whoops, fell asleep on the keyboard there.....................

Stone Sour
Omega
---------------------------------------
What a skeletal wreck of man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes.
Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
from the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
and hope you get a taste.
WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?
WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON? SHUT UP!
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?

Say, your me, and I’m you, and they all watch the things we do,
and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
haven’t felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
and punch me into the dead spout again.
That’s where you go when there’s no one else around,
it’s just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
and a finger on the trigger.
CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THAT’S A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT!
Government is another way to say better…than…you.
It’s like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won’t stick,
it’s like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
but you can’t touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isn’t that sweet?
And we’re all gonna die some day, because that’s the American way,
and I’ve drunk too much, and said too little,
when your gaffer taped in the
middle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what’s happening.
SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
I’m sorry, I could go on and on but
their times to move on so, remember: you’re a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we’ve done.