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I had had enough of people from day one. Retrograde: Nursery School.

What the hell were these little ignorant meaningless people doing in this big, colorful, DISGUISED room? I emphasize disguised because although it may seem to be all lollipops and books about dogs named Spot, it is the beginning, the birth of hell. It is the golden apple about to yield the Trojan War. It is the bastard child of society and law, so cute an innocent now, but only to eventually decay into a hideous, despicable beast.

What were these little hoodlums partaking in? I didn’t understand. Everyone was doing the same thing. They were making butterflies out of tissue paper. Why the hell were they making butterflies out of tissue paper? What was this absurdity all about? Incessant questions fled rapidly through my mind. No sooner could I come up with an answer when another contradiction invaded my pre-school thoughts.

So the situation played itself out like this: They brought me to this ridiculous place, (the omniscient they, parents, the man the law, you know, big fucking brother), introduce me to a bunch of idiots I never cared to know (and later in life, grew to hate) and just randomly expect me to make butterflies out of tissue paper? For no goddamn reason? I blatantly refused to partake in such a ridiculous act. You could give me crayons and paper and I could create you a world within a mere sliver of a tree, but to tell me to make a butterfly, and to tell me what to make it with, and to tell me how to make it, and to tell me to make it EXACTLY like everyone else’s mundane creation, that was breaching my rights as a human being. I should not have to follow your arbitrary orders; I can make my own decisions. Even as a child, I knew this. The one benefit of the doubt is that we were allowed to choose our own color of tissue paper. To contradict this meager benefit lets compare it to a greater equivalent. This is like offering a man on death row the choice between the electric chair and the noose. Either way he is going to fucking DIE.

However, these little motherfuckers were relentless! One after another these solitary infestations of space moseyed their little maggot bodies my way.

“Don’t you wanna make butterflies with us? It’s fun!”

Four years old, crossed arms, eyebrows in a proper position of fury. “NO!” I made sure my response had enough vindication to turn these little creatures away from their attempts to lure me into their butterfly conspiracy. Oh yeah, first it’s only butterflies, but then it’s nine to five to stay alive. I knew their motives, they couldn’t fool me.

These blind moles continued to try and bury their way into my desires, trying desperately to turn me against my individuality and join the rest of them. One after another they pestered and badgered. Then the authority got involved.

Big, powerful solitary infestations of space, big, powerful maggots, big, powerful blind moles these authorities were. They were no different from the little ones. They were just big and powerful and therefore had more control.

In the combined attempts of the big and little ones I had been mentally broken. I had been beaten and I let down my guard. Had they let me stand there in my statuesque pose, and my rock-hard expression of defiance, I would have been perfectly content. But no, they were like pigeons defecating on my head. I didn’t want to stand there any longer. I had received enough abuse. I picked up my stagnant feet, as difficult as it was, added a little false surrender to my voice and sighed, “Okay…”

It’s not that I regret making butterflies with those little brats. My butterfly came out quite nicely and I surprisingly enjoyed myself with such a mind-numbingly, peaceful activity. The real ‘fun’ part was interacting with these little creatures. I was like a scientist seeing a new specimen for the first time. Eventually, as time wore on the rest of them started to like me. It was at this point that I realized that I was no better than them. So after that day I tried my damnedest to keep somewhat separate from them; I remained a mental outcast of my own volition. I refused to understand their mannerism, their institutions, their drone-like behavior.

What I had that they didn’t have, was the question, “Why?”. They were told to make butterflies, and they made butterflies. I stopped and thought, “Why the hell would I want to make a butterfly? What is the point in this exercise? What am I going to do with this stupid butterfly? Most of all what if I don’t want to make a butterfly?

AND THAT… was the beginning of my revolution…

I have much more to talk about on this subject now... but I wrote this up as I wrote it 4 years ago, when I was still a junior in HS and my hatred towards the Jocks was strong, but my perspective was screwy...

Treatise on the Jock

Hello, I’m Ted Koppel, and THIS… is Nightline. Today on Nightline, the High School Jock, what is it? What makes it tick? And why in today “civilized” society that prides itself on intellect, do they still exist? But seriously, what purpose do these meatheads serve? Lumbering around our hallowed high school hallways like primitive life forms. Primordial ooze doing nothing but infecting every corner of our society. Their conversations betray their lack of intellect, like a beacon of incompetence into the night. Sections of their brain include the noble topics of sports, girls, sports, cars, sports, booze, and sports and yet these beasts of burden are bestowed all of the benefits of modern society. Including the benefit of the doubt. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish my homework last night, we had a grueling practice then I had to go see the trainer because I injured my… clavicus… majoris…” (Bonus points if you know what that’s from) Thousands of dollars are spent on these sports programs which in retrospect are completely worthless. Our school is a worthless junkyard of a building, mashed together like some modern Frankenstein’s monster, oh and don’t forget the trailer park out back, yet the winless football team needs new uniforms? Sure, have a third world country!

A study once showed that lifelong exercise will add on about 6 months to an otherwise healthy life. No thanks, I’ll take the time to have my fun now, not when I have arthritis, false teeth and Alzheimer’s, not to mention only 6 months to live. I have nothing against physical exercise (I choose to abstain from said barbaric acts) I just don’t see why it should take any sort of priority in life. “I can run a mile in under 5 minutes” Great job track star, wanna race? Lemme go start my car.

The whole reason we are smart enough to invent things like cars is partially due to the fact that we no longer need to run around chasing down mastodon. I saw a half page article in the local newspaper about how some lacrosse player is going to Syracuse. And this has any relevance to society how? Is it even newspaper worthy? Then again nothing happens around my town anyway so maybe they needed some worthless drivel to fill their newspaper to a somewhat decent size. And then we get to pro-athletes… Paid millions of dollars for running around in circles and looking important, and praised for all of their accomplishments. Meanwhile the people that keep society running, the garbage men, the contractors, the computer programmers stuck all day in some cubicle, the librarians (well not high school ones, they’re just evil) are treated as worthless grunt jobs. I am not saying that they aren’t but these fine people are no worse than any pro-athlete. If anything athletes should be paid less and respected equally. Dance around in tight pants for my amusement you servantile sports monkey. “I SAID DANCE!”

This problem trickles down into the school too. For the jocks are always the ones who “get the girl” or have all the cool buddies or the rich parents that buy them anything they want. Like a brand new Lexus for their 18th birthday only so they can wrap it around a fire hydrant while changing the radio from one crappy Top 40 station to another. The “get the girl” part is the one that kills me the most, because their approach to relationships is the same as their Cro-Magnon counterparts. “Mongo like boobs” & then a whack on the head. Now just drag the unsuspecting female back to the cave for some good old fashioned defiling, then joke about it the next day with your fellow Neanderthals.

The only reason this kills me so much is that because I have a penis, I am automatically thrown into the group with these perfect examples of de-evolution. So the general consensus becomes that men are dirty disgusting pigs, when in reality most of are decent and nice and relatively lonely human beings. The only solace I have is that these meatheads are generally too dumb to get any sort of real job in the future. So in 10 years (if I haven’t died from something completely inane) I can come back to these hallowed halls of Upper Drugland High (actual school nickname btw) and find these football stars still living with their parents working at the local Shop’n’Bag. “That’s right all-star, bag my groceries!”

But wait… what about the jocks that are smart enough to get into college? The ones that take completely worthless majors like “Communications” or “Business Management.” These are the guys that will become the CEO’s and managers of tomorrow’s world. They’ll be the bosses of the future, still just as ignorant, but now in positions of power. These meatheads are going to be, and subsequently, grown up ones currently are, in charge of the commercial and economic future of our world. And people wonder why I say America is going to collapse before the end of the century? And the worst part is that these meatheads will infect the political scene, none of them any smarter than your average Bush.

Oh Noes! It’s already happening… I’m gonna take a very long nap… wake me after the nuclear holocaust.