Random irrelevant note: I see no BBCodes... I'm in easily-amused-person/idiot-free Heaven.
I know your pains very well, Soycopter. In middle school I was your typical teenaged satirist, with a god-complex that would make Sony feel self-concious. I was so confident that in my life I'd be a success, I hardly cared about school, and focused all my effort on writing and developing conjunctions of my own name and religious figures to make me sound badass. After I hadn't gotten my novella published by my Freshman year, I turned my focus back to my studies. Unfortunately, it was already too late -- I found myself in the extended, extra help classes, where I was forced to interact with and listen to these dim-witted, stereo-blasting bastards.
Since my Freshman year just ended, I can recall well enough that most of my classes weren't all bad. Sure, I found it odd being in the same Extended Algebra 1 class as my brother's elementary school friend -- who was a Senior. But a lot of my friends ended up in my classes -- the ones I met while in the same kind of classes in middle school -- so I always had someone to talk to. But even with my best friend with me, nothing could ease my blood pressure during my second semester of a class known as Success Skills. Idea of Success Skills: do your homework, because you were too much of a narcissistic prick in middle school to do your homework where the prefix suggests -- home.
My first semester of the class was fine, as a lot more of the kids I knew were there with me. But the second, I was in a much smaller class, where I only knew four people; one of which was an evil temptress who toyed with my heart since homecoming, until I finally got sick of her antics after she started dating her seventh boyfriend throughout our games of flirt-and-tease. The rest of the people were those gangsters, who talked politics -- "George Bush is wack!" -- and blared the worst possible rap songs on their MP3 speakers (They were so hood that they could afford devices to make others suffer through their redundant lyrics.) Those who weren't complete douchebags still could not help but fall behind the King of Assholes, whose name I have fortunately forgotten. He's the kind of scrawny sixteen-year-old who uses the word "vag" in every other sentence, and took a year of boxing and therefore believes he can take down anyone he wants, despite the fact most fights you see in high school derive from heated arguments, so that the participants are too enraged to fight with their heads no matter how much training they've had, unless accidentally headbutting someone.
I never had to deal with them much, but it always bothered me to see them toying with another student from my grade. The sort of malformed fatass whose parents are wealthy enough to buy him clothes at any given time, to fit into whatever click he is clumsily trying to work his way into. He'd take all sorts of crap from them, all the while telling himself that he was their friend. I would have tried to help him realize this, but he was too much of a dick anytime someone other than an upperclassman (or someone from the same class but bigger than him, either physically or egotistically) tried to speak with him. So I decided to let him float in the cesspool of lies and pain.
Mkay, so would this be considered too much of a rant? I read the guidelines, but I've been on a lot of forums and a lot of them have different ideas of rant. Some people think only a novella is worthy of the title, while others think they're anything beyond three sentences and without a zero replacing an o.
