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 Teenagers have social lives.

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a. hams
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Posts : 1151
Join date : 2013-03-23
Age : 18
Location : Wonderland

PostSubject: Teenagers have social lives.    Wed Feb 19, 2014 5:40 pm

Okay, so I take speech. Speech as in Speech and Debate, for those who were wondering. And generally I like the club. I like the people (sometimes) and I like learning new shakespearean insults to use on mundanes. But I hate one of the teachers. Let's call him Mr. Giganticpainintheass so as to save his identity. So first of all, he comes in and demands to see my poetry (which I happened to forget at home.) and wants to hear it. Okay, that's fine. So I find one of them online, and I begin with my memorized intro which I've had for months. I think it's fine, and so does the other speech coach. 

But Mr. Giganticpainintheass makes me change it. 5 FREAKING TIMES. And I have trouble looking people in the eyes, so he yells at me about it. I brush it off, because I know he's like this. And I commence reading my poem to him. After I'm finished, he tells me to memorize it. Literally it's 26 lines, it's the end of the season, WHO THE HELL CARES IF I HAVE IT MEMORIZED OR NOT. POETRY DOES NOT HAVE TO BE MEMORIZED EXCEPT FOR THE INTRO, MR. GIGANTICPAININTHEASS. So I take my phone and my computer and go outside, where I'm fuming, refusing to even look at the poem.

Actually, back up. This is why I'm mad. March 7th is my birthday. March 8th is a speech competition. Do you see my problem here? Mr. Giganticpainintheass wants me to go to the speech meet. Okay, but we teenagers have something called a social life. Our world doesn't revolve around you and speech. I'm not kicking my friends out of my house at 7:30 in the morning to go and do a speech meet which I'll never win. So I tell him no. No I'm not going. No I'm not going to memorize my poem. Just no. So I find my friends, Emma and Ryan, and we ditch speech club and go across the street to Starbucks, because we're rebels and we don't give shit about Mr. Giganticpainintheass. 

Okay, rant done. Hopefully.


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