Welcome to the 2nd installment of CSH. I hope you fucks are happy, because I had to put up with a month of stupidity and bitchiness to bring this to you. What do I get? The satisfaction of venting my anger, and probably an excuse not to commit genocide.
This month's victim is the dreaded 6 foot tall beast of a woman whom I will refer to as Psycho Hose Beast, or Hose Beast for short. Those of you who have seen Wayne's World know what I mean. Those who haven't can go fuck themselves for all I care.
Before I start I'd like to note that I had originally planned to format this entire chronicle by talking to some of Hose Beast's old boyfriends. This idea was quickly dismissed because all of Hose Beast's old boyfriends are now only able to communicate by blinking their eyes. Now onto the dirt.
I have to put up with Hose Beast in 2 classes every fucking day. One of them is 1st hour, which is my AP Statistics class. AP Statistics is short for AP Sit On Your Ass And Coast Through Your Senior Year-Math. This class requires ABSOLUTELY no intelligence whatsoever. It requires just barely more comprehension skills than calculus, which says basically nothing. This is the kind of shit monkeys do at circuses for fear of the whip. Even Hose Beast manages to confuse herself. At times I think the teacher is just talking to waste time, but Hose Beast has the same perplexed look on her face as a retarded child trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle. No kidding, today I heard her bitching about how it was "so hard" and "everyone told me it was easy" but she just can't keep her stem-and-leaf and bar graphs straight. I too have problems differentiating between deviation and mean. Wait a minute... The fact that everyone told Hose Beast that statistics was easy and seeing her obvious impediment says volumes about how big of a moron she really is. Her parents probably put Mercury in her orange juice or something.
Really, how stupid do you have to be to injure yourself cheerleading? I don't mean stubbed toes and sprained wrists and ankles, I'm talking full out black eye and severe swelling, probably furthering her brain damage. Apparently she got kneed in the face by some other cheerleader. How'd the fuck does that happen, did you cartwheel when you were supposed to twirl? That must have happened 5 or 6 times since I came to this school sophomore year. Not only that, but she shares the same trait as Melissa (Stupid Hag #1) in that she wears entirely too much make up, so you can't tell which eye is black (her eye liner makes it impossible to tell). What's with stupid hags and too much make up? Damn.
I eventually got so fed up with stupid questions in my statistics class that I wrote down all of the one-liners and decided to write this column. So here's my point-by-point.
1. Does this have to be finished when we turn it in?
No, you fucking moron. Just do half of it and give it to the teacher. On second thought, use it to funnel paint thinner through your nose. I don't think the teacher even answered this one. I answered it with a "No, you moron!" followed by a quick "shut the hell up."
2. What are variables?
These are the kind of questions that really get me. It reminds me of the dumbasses that slow all of my foreign language classes down because they don't know what a direct object is. At least look at the fucking word before raping my integrity with your shitty questions (VARIables, you stupid cunt). If you want to take an upper level math class, you had better know what variables are. You need that shit for Algebra. This just goes to show that you can do all of your homework and kiss your ass into a class, regardless your lack of skills and how stupid you are, especially compared to those of us who do no homework and make it on performance alone.
3. Are they applying this to the US as a whole or just the lower 38 states?
The lower 38 states? This wouldn't have made the list had she not have asked it about 6 fucking times. Hit the books, kid.
4. A boat? Who drives a boat?
This is taken out of context. We were talking about the speed at which a car backs out of a parking space when a person is waiting for them. Someone brought up the fact that you might back up faster with a smaller car rather than a "boat", obviously referring to a large SUV or something like that. Hose Beast does not share the keen awareness that other mental patients and handicapped children possess. She actually thought we were talking about a boat that one drives in water. I wish I was kidding.
5. I don't understand anything.
6. I don't understand anything.
7. I don't understand anything.
8. I don't understand anything.
9. I don't understand anything.
10. I don't understand anything.
11. I don't understand anything.
12. I don't understand anything.
13. I don't understand anything.
14. I don't understand anything.
15. I don't understand anything.
16. I don't understand anything.
That's what I hear about 4.3 million times a day. Hose Beast turns to one of her stupid friends and says those 4 words. She'll then proceed to ask stupid questions that take half of the damn class to explain. This, in turn, confuses the other stupid girls in the class and they all start to dyke out with stupidity. At this point I'm asleep, dreaming about using my compass to carve pentagrams in their foreheads and burn them at the stake. Then Ms. Crazy Eyes shits a brick because I was sleeping. I hate everybody.
Possibly worse than her stupid questions are her stupid answers. I tell her she's a dipshit who asks too many stupid questions, and gives me that "There are no stupid questions..." line. Fuck that. How are there not stupid questions? Why the hell are questions immune to labels like stupid and retarded. How can there be good questions if there are no stupid ones? If I were to ask, "How many pounds can a 7 pound bag hold?" That would somehow not be a stupid question? Someone fill me in on this, because it just seems to me like morons are running out of shitty excuses to pull out of their asses.
I don't know what I'm going to do. If Hose Beast ever gets pregnant I'll be the first guy lined up to punch her in the stomach. Really, I need to find a brand of lipstick I can give to her that makes you sterile. I can just imagine the foolishly retarded children she would have. I hope she marries a trucker that beats her and rapes her first born. That would rule. She probably couldn't afford to be a Hose Beast because she'd spend all of her money on crack and diapers. Then I'd get a job heckling her, and I'd sell tapes of it for profit. Sweet.
Hose Beasts read my chronicles and still don't understand anything.