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A View from the Solarium RETRACTION: Mr. Milligan didn't like this one very much... welcome to English 12... =)

It's been a very long time since I dipped into the mailbox (essay four), so let's take a look!

            "... 28 pages, crazy!" - BRIAN HAAS
            "It is the best piece of shit I have seen in my life." - SHAWN AHMED

            "Now that school's over I have nothing better to do with my time than email freaks like you (no offense) about their weird (but cool) homepages.  Yours, I must say was a real gem.  The most thought out, diverse, humorous, cynical and just plain weird homepage I've ever come across." - ANONYMOUS
            "This is an excellent web site. I'm amazed at the literary level in this site and I expected a lot more trash!" - TYLER GROSE
            "Veeeeeery interesting Home Page ya got thar! Quite the literary genius!" - PHILIP EWER

On with it:

            When presented with an English assignment, I tend to go to great lengths to make sure that it is so difficult to mark that the teacher never assigns that type of assignment to me again. On that note, this is the first essay on this site that was written for grading purposes in quite some time. On another note, Mr. Hart from ENG11 would express his doubt at the wisdom of my putting the real student names into my essays (and now, novellas), so I am going to start off on a good note with Mr. Milligan. I swear upon every single deity that exists that there are no more real names in this essay, except where I lied about it.

            CLM (Career and Life Management) and PAL (Physically Active Lifestyle) are, in my opinion, two courses on the courses list that were put on by some bloody socialistic moron who first fell out of bed that morning and hit his head, whose family left him there for fifteen hours, then they dragged him by his ankles to the hospital (during the trip he banged his head several more times, and several armed thugs shot him clean through the head seven times as well), and up the stairs, and down the stairs, and up the stairs again, and through the halls... and his meals consisted solely of JEL-OH™, which rotted his brain even further; soon he was declared brain dead and he was disconnected from the machines, and he was soon buried... over a toxic waste dump, and then finally the school board unearthed him after 10 years (after all his willpower against CLM and PAL had been drained away) so they could animate enough of what was left of his bones to mark a thin pencil line on the bottom of the document that would pave the way towards every damn high school in the province adopting CLM11 and PAL11. I say 'he' and 'him' as pronouns because no female of any species could ever allow such horrible courses to be introduced into the school system.
            I had the honour of taking CLM11 with Mr. Michael Outlaw, whose class I chose to enter because I had a previous experience with him in GEO10. GEO10 had its problems however, for instance a lot of people made fun of me (imagine that!), and I had problems in particular with certain students such as Davey Amway. I signed up in the hopes that I would get an easy half credit, and perhaps even learn something.
            Davey Amway was there. He made fun of me in SCI10, GEO10, and all through the halls every single day.
            Michael Tracer was there. He made fun of me in Grade 7, and all through the halls every single day.
            Not good.
            Over the course of those two months, I got to know each and every member of the class so well that we all agreed we never wanted to see each other ever ever ever again after CLM and PAL were done with. But it was not all bad, sometimes we would stop throwing things at each other (well, more like everyone throwing stuff at me) during moments that we should show respect, such as the playing of the national anthem. I am not kidding. We were all such brazen punks that we would continue to throw things when the teacher returned. Ask Timillip Off-White, Troy Aikman, Michael Grandiose or Nathen Craiglow and they will tell you my throwing ability went up at least 50%. Derek River even coached me on the proper technique, though he did not participate in the Paper War himself. Of course this constant barrage of paper between Point A (the table where Michael Tracer and his lieutenants sat) and Point B (the lone desk in the far corner near the teacher's desk where I sat) caused a good share of problems at Point C (the table where Leslie mrJonesandme and a good friend of hers sat) because they would often get caught in the crossfire (ie: when I was still learning to throw right) and thus they were not able to finish their project on racism properly, and then they got a tad bit upset at me, and now all of Leslie mrJonesandme's friends hate me, and all of that good friend of hers' friends hate me as well... but that is Another Story.
            Meanwhile, at Point D (where Nathen Craiglow and some other muscular and vertically-oriented people sat), people would ask anyone at Point B certain questions that were meant to encourage openness and sharing in the CLM spirit:

            "Will, are you a pathological liar?"
            "Um... yes!"

            And back at Point A, people there were already very open and honest, so a discourse between Point A and Point B would go something like this:

            "Will, did you have a sex change or something?"
            (Sarcastically) "Of course!"
            "Well, it looks like they stopped halfway!" (laughs)
            (Spins yarn) "Maybe they did, my name is really Wilma."

            Needless to say, this did not help my chances of becoming friends with that good friend of Leslie mrJonesandme. Discussions like this, though they helped us to contribute to the class in a positive manner, did not go over particularly well with Mr. Michael Outlaw, and so I was often kicked out of the classroom. Sometimes he would even go out to talk to me, during which time someone in that trustworthy class stole my 150-page handwritten novel I was working on (I only had to pay $10 to get it back, my original idea for the 'reward' was $100, but my pencil broke after the first zero. I later changed the notice to 'If you even think of stealing this again you (intercoursing) (illegitimate child) I'll...', but that is Another Story). Sometimes it was cool though, because I was kicked out for much of every class, and I got to know someone who happened to have a free who always sat on a bench in that corridor rather well. One day, I was really upset, so I walked out the back doors and began to throw chunks of pavement at the school. I didn't actually break anything, but the onlookers smoking crack in the woods thought that something might be wrong with me.
            But, as you know, seasons change, and so did the class. With the winter months came PAL, Ms. Eliza MacKenzan, and a seating plan. I do not like seating plans. I do not even accept and tolerate seating plans. I hate seating plans, especially the ones that seat me away from Leslie mrJonesandme's good friend who I had just taken a seat near.
            I suppose I must have been in a bad mood that day, so I ended up having a philosophical discussion with Ms. MacKenzan:

            "Hmmph. (Female of the canine persuasion)."
            "What did you say?"
            "I called you a (Female of the canine persuasion)."

            That REALLY didn't impress that good friend of Leslie mrJonesandme's. And, what's worse, I got sent to the office. (I later made amends with her [the teacher], she is my superior in the Student's Council as well, and I honestly didn't think she was a real [Female of the canine persuasion]) There, I was told I was going to be kept in the library for the rest of the day and be suspended the next day, and not to worry too much about it, said Ms. Black, just be back on wednesday.
            So I was eventually dismissed to the library, and I was standing in front of the periodicals rack. Why don't I just knock this thing down? Then I thought I'd better not, then I just got even angrier, and I knocked aside an unfortunate girl who was standing nearby, and I headed straight for the doors, straight through the lobby, straight out the driveway, straight down Duke Street, straight up the 102 to Waverly banging a plastic PVC pipe I found on the roadside against my head (if you knew exactly what I was thinking and/or saying at the time, it would give you very bad nightmares), straight into the Petro Canada to fill up a container I had with water... you get the idea. I think a staff member saw me somewhere down there, and of course you know how they are, they always have to rat on you to everyone, and they got the police and my mom after me, and they picked me up on the Boy Scout Road. I suppose they thought I couldn't make it quite all the way to PEI. But that really is Another Story.
            So PAL went along its merry way, we played all sorts of dumb things in the gym, and they were always segregated, hampering my efforts to play alongside this good friend of Leslie mrJonesandme's. Every time they counted off groups I tried to count ahead to align myself just so, but some people would always screw it up and I'd end up wrong; and I also worked on a class project with this person. But that in no way means I liked her or anything, which I duly explained to Davey Amway. Oh! There goes that "Nobody Cares" alarm Angela Ritzcrackers planted in my head for me!
            So what was the point of my telling you all this? Simple. I needed to write about an experience that was good and bad at the same time! I know what you're all thinking, CLM and PAL had too many good points to make this essay ring true, but I hope that it will be suitable for Mr. Divotmiester the day after tomorrow.

            FINAL NOTE: 100% of this essay, with the exception of the names, is pretty much true, even some of what I think will come across as hyperbole. Up until now, my life really sucked. (Actually, in some small way, it still does... =)

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