To the general public, Honours, Inc. is a fine upstanding organization that makes scholarships available to seniors with money donated by families and businesses. To me, Honours, Inc. is a superficial bullshit society hell-bent on screwing me out of getting my message out to people. I suppose my view of them deserves an explanation, which is what the purpose of this column will be. This story ends up with me getting denied a shot at a scholarship, but I will detail the events that I believe lead up to it.
Grand Master Bullshit unhatches a Grand Master Plan: Study hall junior year was very productive for Allen, Levon and myself. We got a lot of things done every day. Such things as designing pot smoking devices made out of objects we used in a chemistry lab, drawing Hitler mustaches on every page of our textbooks, and even designing an underground weed growing room beneath a shed Levon was going to build. This was also the study hall that I got the idea for Project Bullshit. This project was my marketing campaign for the site, which consisted of Allen and I writing columns for the Nite Crier and putting links to the site in them.
Project Bullshit hits turbulence: Earlier this year was when Project Bullshit was to take place. The columns were written and submitted. Bullshit Central was poised to flood the general public (school) with good, clean humor. There was a snag when Vice Principal Nutjob, on behalf of administration, informed me that they didn't want my article in the paper. For the full explanation and column, click HERE. Allen's column had come out the previous month and had gotten rave reviews, but there was no link to the site in it. Project Bullshit was dead in the water.
Project Bullshit hits back: I printed off and handed out my columns to anyone who knew how to read and it received rave reviews. Not one person told me it shouldn't have been in the paper. This includes all of my teachers (and 3 English teachers). I still got my message out after all. I also all but proved my initial hypothesis on administration's reasoning behind shooting my column down. They didn't like what I had to say about their wonderful school and they didn't want anyone else to know about it either. I'm not sure if they ever found out I handed them out. I don't really care either.
Grand Master Bullshit wants a damn scholarship: Head Principal Q-Ball was in my Employability Skills class (better known as the 40 minutes of my day I regretted the most. Except for when I was sleeping, because sleeping is the best time waster.) one day to give us "a grand opportunity." He and his organization of bald homosexuals, err... I mean respected community members were giving away money for college to graduating seniors. His clan that he called "Honours, Inc." had been giving out money and impressing people with their funky British spelling since 1983. Thinking to myself "I'm glad I've always had good grades, free money rules!" I jumped at the opportunity. Q-Ball pleaded with us to apply for them, "So many of them weren't given out because no one went for them last year," he told us. I got an application and was on my way to cheaper college. (I later had to get a new application after my original one was ruined by bong water. True story.)
Grand Master Bullshit does the application (no, not in that way you sick freak): After turning in the application, if I was considered for it, I would receive notification by the end of February. I filled out the application and jumped through all the hoops they wanted me to. I sent in my "evaluations" from other people, and I signed my forms. I answered such in-depth application questions as "Please list your brothers and sisters and their ages" and "Have you done any community services (examples: volunteer work, missionary work, or caring for the elderly)." I got "None" for both of them. The other questions were about my desire to achieve, my goals, what I would be going to school for, and anything I had done relating to it. I wrote about my desire to kick everyone's ass at what I would be doing, and that I would be going to school for creative writing. For related things, I listed "Have written poems and songs for my band, have written articles for the school newspaper, and write opinion columns for a website that I run." That's right, articles is plural because I actually did make it in the paper once. It was freshman year and I was in the Entertainment section hawking my then-band Dark Fate. A lot of good that did us, ha.
Dear, Grand Master Bullshit: You are DENIED: I received a letter from the crazy Brits at Honours, Inc. last week (which was dated March 4th. Way to be punctual assholes.) I will admit, I was expecting it to tell me when my interview was. But what I found in the letter is the reason this column is being written.
Dear Charles,
... We regret to inform you that you have not been selected to interview for a scholarship. We realize that this is disappointing and we would sincerely love to have enough scholarship money available to give one to all of the most deserving students. Blah blah blah...
This letter was personally signed by one Principal Q-Ball on behalf of Honours, Inc. Due to that fact and the fact they didn't give anything but a vague reason for my rejection, I began to think. This lead to me trying to think of what could have happened, and this is where I get my whole "superficial bullshit society" conspiracy theory.
Keep in mind that what I'm about to say is not proven in any way. My theory is pure speculation and I could be horribly wrong. I may never know what exactly happened. But I will share with you the circumstantial evidence that points to me being left out of consideration for the scholarship because of who I am and not because of what I accomplished.
Picture this: Q-Ball sits in his office going over the scholarship applications. His fancy desk and the top of his head give off the same glare from the fluorescent lights. He comes across the application of Charles Robinson and begins to read. Q-Ball sees that Charles wishes to go to school to become a writer. He then comes across the bit about "have written articles for the Nite Crier." Q-Ball is instantly reminded of the defamation that Charles Robinson called an opinion column. Q-Ball thinks to himself "This world needs me! I can save the corruption of millions of minds by keeping this kid from becoming a writer!" He then tells the Superintendent to come out from under his desk to fill him in. They both agree that such a threat to society should be choked out like a nagging wife. The message spreads to the rest of Nazis Inc. and they send me a nice letter.
If you're wondering how "exclusive" the "honour" of this scholarship is, it's about as competitive as a baby vs. a rolling Sherman Tank. They gave out THIRTY-FIVE of these motherfuckers last year. If you figure they interview 2 times more people than they give out, that's 70. If you think about how many people actually have the mental capacity to fill out the application in my grade, that's about 100 (and I'm being generous here). Yet somehow I did not get even the slightest shot at getting a scholarship. Not to toot my own horn, but given my academic record and "A pleasure to have in class" comments on my report cards, I should have at least gotten a fucking interview. But whoops, I don't fit their perfect little mold so I can pay for college myself like any hard-working nonconformist. I'm sorry I don't "look good on paper" and I didn't join any super-fun clubs like Academic Decathlon or Science Olympiad. The only club I was ever in was Chess Club, and I was one of the 2 people that came up with the fucking idea for it (which I put on my application). There was no Chess Club before Willie and I invented it. But did I get credit for it in the yearbook? Nope. I stuck with it for a year until Willie graduated and its greatness was washed away by a flood of nerds the following year.
The application I filled out was in no way a good judge of what the applicants are capable of. You could have mistaken it for one of those ridiculous "Deleet my ansers and put in your's in the next 10 seconds or you well have bad luck with certin oozing genital sores for the next 7 years!!!!11" chain mails. I need to make a computer program for when I get these in my e-mail. Upon receiving one, my program will auto-reply with a real letter bomb delivered to the mailbox closest to the sender. See what that will get you in the next 7 years, bitches. Regardless of the vapidity (holy shit, that's a real word) of the application, here is a list of Honours Inc's judgmentally superficial criteria, along with my fitness of those criteria:
If I weren't too lazy to write back to Honours, the letter would go something like this:
Dear Honours,
I cried long and hard after reading your letter. I wanted to get my college paid for SOOOO bad! :(. I wish the best of luck to all the deserving people that you deemed better than me. Who needs writers anyway? They never get out their true message because of editors and censorship anyway, so what's the point? I am glad that you used your best unbiased judgment in your denying me.
Just kidding fuckers! I'm onto your little bullshit game. It's cool how I made you wet yourselves so badly with my column that you had the testes to turn me down. It's a real "hounour." Maybe you people should give yourselves a scholarship for writing, seeing as how you can't spell and can't put a proper sentence together ("...we would sincerely love to have enough scholarship money available to give one to all..."???). My spell checker is in Intensive Care from all the stress it went through trying to correct "Honours". I promise you that someday you will see the name Charlie Robinson in print somewhere and I will be laughing at your inferiority. I could have an awesome "life goal" like becoming a school principal but I don't want to be a babysitter for the rest of my life. I choose to write creatively and get my message out to the masses. Once I'm on top you can't censor me anymore Mr. Q-Ball. Go to hell, please.
Sincerely,
Grand Master Bullshit
Hopefully Principal Q-Ball doesn't send me any chain e-mails before my letter arrives