The following is a true tale of high school trauma! It was part of a journal entry for our "Read books and write stuff about it" class .. it's official name escapes me at the moment. It was one of the few classes I actually didn't mind going to. Props to Mr. Houk. Werd to your mother.

     We had a day called "Culture Day," and we all took time out from our classes so we could sit in the gym for an hour and watch customs from different cultures around the world. Apparently culture from around the world involved blond, blue-eyed teenagers in shiny spandex dancing to American pop music ... I was told that other classes got to see things that were actually from different countries - probably some skewed and insulting American view of them performed by the same Arian children. This did not make me happy.

Culture Day. And Stuff.

     Oh, what a magical day it was! Boy am I glad and overjoyed to be exposed to so much culture! I mean, they just came over, unhinged my jaw, and forced AMERICAN DANCE CULTURE down my throat, and much like the digestive process of a snake, the culture has not yet made it through the grand oblivion of lost and forgotten thought. Perhaps someday, months down into the future, it will come out as digested thought ... some kind of creative diarrhea.

     American Culture!? Hey!? AMERICA!? I live tHERE! YeAH I want to see more of the great antithesis of thought that is dance. Suck me into your rotting and bleeding stump of a vacuum and I'll throw my brain out the door! I'll trade my soul so I can wriggle and writhe my body around so I can make, oh, such loud noises to trick myself that I'm alive inside! I enjoy suffocating!