~AN: I'm lazy. I should be able to spit this out faster. I don't even have a "I had a lot of schoolwork/studying to do," even though I probably have been studying for my midterms. In the following there is… the beginning of a plot! I know, insane, right? Anyways, I don't own South Park or any of the characters or plan on making any money. Moving on-
Chapter 2: A Student
I wake up every day at 6:45. The bus doesn't come to my bus stop until 7:50. It takes me twenty minutes flat to get ready. I get up this early because I cannot physically get out of bed.
Why bother to get out of bed?
Because you have to.
Why, though? Why not just lay here and let the world rot around you?
Because you have to get up.
Why bother?
It's not an option.
Who makes you?
Society. Society makes me.
Why do you give a fuck about society? Screw society. Stay here and sleep.
Because screwing society draws too much attention. They won't leave me alone. They'll see the abnormality and try to fix it, and then instead of screwing society they'll try to make me make love to society- which is bullshit.
It'll be a statement.
I don't care about making a statement. Plus, that'd be the stupidest passive-aggressive statement ever to exist-
A TEENAGE BOY REFUSES TO GET OUT OF BED BECAUSE THE WORLD SUCKS.
I get out of bed, grab my clothes, take a shower, cram in a Pop Tart, grab my iPod, and I go out the door.
I was in the clear. I thought that I was going to be free to drive to school alone until I looked into my rearview mirror. "Damn it," I mutter as my designated BFF raced out his front door towards my Audi. Clyde Donavan is a big guy. Not Cartman The Fatass big, more like massive football guy big. I forget what position he plays, but I know he's always second (second: best, most important, most noticed, you name it)to Stan Marsh. This has led to a near decade long rivalry. A one-sided rivalry. Clyde kisses Golden Boy ass, and then bitches at me about how much he hates Stan and how annoying Stan is and so on and so forth. If I didn't know any better I'd think that Clyde has a hard on for Stan.
"Damn, planning on leaving without me or something?" he said as he plopped into the passenger side.
"Yes." He snorts. When I was younger I thought us being best friends meant that I could be brutally honest with him. I realized after awhile that it meant I could be brutally honest and he wouldn't take it seriously. I'm not sure what's more annoying: the lying or the being treated trivially.
"Hey, dude, is that your sister? Pull over, man, give her a ride," he said. Clyde appears to have a crush on a little sister. It's rather pitiful. She'll be fifteen in next month- the day of our high school graduation. She doesn't look like a nearly fifteen year old- she looks one cup size away from a Victoria's Secret model, something she's very aware of. Little skank.
"Fuck her and I will strangle you in your sleep," I said as I drove off. Actually, the triviality is better- I get to get away with death threats because of it. Ruby flipped me off as I drove off. I returned the favor.
"Dude, you are such a dick to your sister."
"Says the one who wants to screw her brains out."
He continues, "I mean, shouldn't you be carting her around and shootin' boyfriends, being the overprotective brother you were born to be?"
"One- I was born first. I wasn't born to be her anything. Two- stereotyping. Three- says the one who wants to screw her brains out." I like numbering my points. It makes them simple and straight forward, easy to understand.
He keeps talking, but I stopped listening. I slowly turned the volume, hinting that maybe he should shut up. He doesn't take the hint.
I don't know where the descriptions of Redneckville high (and/or junior high) schools came from, but South Park Central School wasn't one of them. It looks a little like you'd imagine a bigass private school would look like. Looks too good- old, but good- for the actual student body that inhabits it. The parking lot was puny but, hell, not a lot of people can afford cars here.
I parked next to Token's new Cadillac Escalade (fucker) and into the building, Clyde on my heals, still blabbering away (what's he talking about now? Cheerleaders?) I dug through my locker, switching out my backpack for today's classes. Wasn't there a quiz today? Fuck, there is.
"There a quiz today?" I asked.
"What?" he asked, looking a little like I'd asked him if elephants could fly. Is "There a quiz today?" really a confusing question.
"Quiz. Today. Is there."
"Fuck if I know, dude. You're in smartass classes, remember?" Right. I remember back when I first started smartass classes. Clyde always wanted me to tutor him 'n shit. I am a horrible tutor. I get what I get and that's it. I can't explain it to you, nor do I have to patience. He just copies my papers now.
"Yo, Kyle, do we have a quiz today?" I holler down the hallway. Kyle and Co. were huddled next to the stairwell. Kenny was probably dealing. Kyle stuck his head out and yelled back a, "In which class?"
"Any of 'em!"
"Chem." Damn it. My chemistry teacher is a twat. He's fucking with my GPA.
"Fucking son of a bitch," I mutter as I close my locker.
"Dude, are you paying any attention?"
"Of course I am Clyde, because I care so fucking much about whatever you're talking about," I say blankly, making sure to give Clyde my I'm bullshitting you look.
"Whatever, dickless," I flip him off and start walking once the bell rings. "So is this a yes?"
"No. Whatever it is, no."
"Come on, it'd be fun." He draws out the U. I feel like punching him. I think I got screwed with this emotion business. People are meant to feel more than annoyance and anger to ensure that we don't kill each other. All I got was sense.
"No."
"You have to."
"No I don't."
"You can't blow off your girlfriend's birthday party."
"Anne's not my girlfriend." Never will be, either. Other than the fact she appears to have some strong feelings for me despite the fact we've never had a conversation before.
Well, we made out once. Drunkenly. She used too much tongue.
I tune Clyde out and enter something he never will- an AP English class.
I sit down, put my headphones in, rearrange my chullo to hide said headphones, and ignore the world.
.
.
.
~ AN 2.0: Reviews make me soooo happy, so do it. Please.
