Did I say that I finished the rock dog already? Well, I had to paint it, and when you paint something you gotta put that something on a piece of paper, then spray away. There was no hot pink spray paint and our only options were either gold or silver. Gold totally kicks way more fucking ass than silver in this case. Silver looks like aluminum that reacts to being scratched with your fingernails on a chalkboard with an excruciating screech. Kind of like Axl Rose's voice. Well, when the dog dried and I took it off the paper, a whole new work of art was discovered. No, this is not up for grabs. I've already decided on its owner. And who the fuck would want this piece of shit anyway? And as for the real poochie, it has already been claimed also.
And no, I am not one of those artistic kids who are so "unique." Because I'm already uniquely dumb. I just like to make fun of my rather amusing shit that I make. Accidental shit, in this case. Usually I hate folks who are oh so artistic - they live and breathe art, and are so let's say, culturally original. They're so fucking dorky and when you happen to walk past them doing their work and they force you to give them your opinion, and you suck up to them and say, "Oh man, that's fucking awesome!" Then they start showing off and explaining the whole meaning behind that piece of shit that they're showing off, wasting your fucking shitful time while your own work is waiting for you to get back and devote your love to it, and actually fucking finish it! But noooo, the fucktard keeps on blabbing meaningless shit. The thing is, it literally is shit that they are saying. With every single person who has done this to me, all I hear is the redundant "from deep within my emotion and thoughts, it reflects what I feel in life" bullshit. Yeah, support this "emotional" crap that you're telling me. Tell me something original. Something surprising. Something that will blow me away and actually interest me. Yeah, interest me, motherfucker. That's the first step to explaining your artwork. It's either that, or shut the fucking hell up.
I don't get how people could constantly go to these student art shows, whether it's a kindergarten exhibition or a college nationwide competition. I don't get how people could go to these things and stay for hours. Yeah, it's cool just staying for about twenty or thirty minutes checking out some of the cool shit, but standing in front of each and every one, talking about what the fuck it could possibly mean, stating redundant arrogant bullshit to make you look smart, for minutes upon minutes upon minutes, and never getting to the fucking point. Come on, art isn't a fucking algebra equation. To me, shitful old me, it's just eye candy and a pleasure to look at. If you're going to stand there and analyze the hell out of it, sit the fuck down somewhere else so I can have a turn to look at it without your fucking fat ass in the way and go write a five page report on the story behind it. When you could just go to the fucking artist themself, who will just start this boring fucktard cycle all over again.
I'm not saying these people are stupid, I'm just saying that they need more personality. Well I'm sure the real artists in this world have plenty of personality, but here I'm bitching about the students I know who are like that. They seriously bore the shit out of me. Some, if not most, are the dorky kinds who also craze over their schoolwork. Don't get me started on that.
So today was a bad day. I think I know why - the horrible green sweater that I wore last week with the red pants. It's bad luck. I hate that goddamn thing now. The reality is, my mom was was supposed to get me the black and red one, but fucking Macy's ran out, and that green and red one was the next best one. But the absolutely shitheaded thing is, I accepted it. Even after she asked me a million times if I wanted it or not, and she'd just go back and return it. But I don't like wearing sweaters, so I don't have that many. That's really fucking obvious. The green sweater is one of my only few that doesn't make me look like Yogi on crack.
The french teacher gave me these nasty looks today. First when the fucktard on the announcements did the salute to the flag, the teacher turns around to check if I was standing up or not. This time I did. Because I figured I was in a bad enough mood already wearing my crappy sweater I didn't want to make things even worse. Even if her checking on me was bad already. Then when I ask to "go to the bathroom" she gave me another nasty look. Well duh, if you know me fucking well enough, I never really go to the bathroom, but instead take a nice ten minute walk and buy some munchies to chomp my fucking teeth with. She probably knows I do that already, because no one ever takes that long to "take a shit" as long as I do. And if she doesn't know, she probably thinks that I got some serious intestinal problems. Nope, wrong person. That's my mom. And grandpa. My mom inherited it from my grandpa. But my dad is the one who likes to shit and stink up all areas of the world.
In history I had to write as much as I could on an essay that I was supposed to do last Friday. Who gives a fuck about that, I had a delicious breakfast sandwich. Sausage this time, no ham.
We watched the shittiest ABC Network movie in drivers' ed. It was called The Accident. Some girls get in a car drunk and get into a car accident, the passenger dying. The driver to live the rest of her life in guilt and ridicule. But the real accident was watching this Gwar awful movie. Yes, I have stamped it with a "Gwar" verb. That's the death penalty for a noun, you know. Damn right I got my grammar skills, bitch.
Lunch was amusing to say the least. I was sitting with this group of people, and one dude sticks his hand down his pants and rubs his balls, then wipes it on the face of the dude sitting next to him. The dude that got sperm-whacked punched the sperm-whacker in the face and he fell over.
English sucked. The teacher handed back out elements of our research papers that we've handed in during past classes. Being that I sit in the front right in front of her old lady ass, she takes my papers as examples of how many corrections most of ours needed. My paper was handed in black and white neat and dandy; to black and white blue and shitty.
Froze my fucking ass walking home. Then made a yummy sandwich and watched Arthur. Hell yeah, Arthur. Not the fucking medieval homefuck, but the aardvark.
Homefuck. Axl makes up the funniest shit.
No editing for this one. It's too long for even the writer themself to read over again.
Christina N. @ 6:37 PM
