Monday, August 29, 2011

The Test

Springtime's commencement marks the dawn of warm weather, blooming flowers and packing chaws without spitting in a cup. For most, this is a relaxed and pleasant time of year, save for a select group of people. High school juniors nationwide continually dread this season because of a test that will forever live in infamy: The SAT's. Most kids piss their pants thinking about how much weight this five hour endeavor holds on the next few years of their lives. But worry not little fucktards, because shit hit the fan for me and I'm currently living the dream.

Since I probably have the highest IQ on the planet, I didn't really see any point in studying like those pussy poindexters scrambling to memorize the dictionary. I knew I would've aced it given the chance. I was so sure, in fact, that I spent the whole night partying up with my new-found Halo buddies. Packing chaws, drinkin' and gamin' was my recipe for success.

I rolled in pale faced and droopy-eyed, making sure everyone knew how little sleep was necessary. So I moseyed to a seat in the back, chuckling at the worrisome aura surrounding the room. Once seated, however, a rotund butch waddled in bellowing out needless instructions. But alas, I was unable to listen due to her "distractions" (i.e.she wiped snot off her burnt orange mustache every 5 seconds).

Though I was slightly amused and thoroughly disgusted by these shenanigans, the repercussions proved to be drastic. Since I heard exactly zero words that came out of her mouth, I missed some fairly important instructions. Namely that there was an essay portion, and that it was the first part.

When the test began, I sat for a few minutes mulling over the essay question: Why? Why?...I thought it was a fuckin' joke. How is someone supposed to respond to that bullshit? So I raised my hand to ask her for help. She approached me slowly and hovered over close enough for me to smell the shit-flavored burrito she had for dinner last night.

After momentarily gagging, I politely asked her, "How would you respond to this piece of shit essay question? Also, before you start talking, would you mind taking a few steps back? Your breath smells like Ted Bundy's basement." With that, she took my test and pointed at the door without uttering a word.

Puzzled, I stood up for a moment and did all that I could to conceal my desire to slug the butch. So I smiled, thanked her for not opening her mouth and walked to the fan blowing at full blast in the back of the room. I then swiftly dropped my pants, pooed in one, and happily watched faces turn horrified as tiny pieces gave the room a much needed change of color.

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