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Writing on the Stall
http://go.to/writingonthestall
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For nothing! My Eleven year old niece could graduate from FHS. But even if you haven't done anything special, you can still BE special by visiting our website. That's right, Writing on the Stall is entirely digital now. So stop looking at porn and expand your minds and other various glands by stopping at the website, where you can see old issues, e-mail the writers, and see Irwin naked on a toilet. Woo Hoo! "Football's Something You'll Use the Rest of Your Life" By Myshkin Congratulations to all you who have managed to stay eligible for your favorite extra curricular activity. What a feat! Maintaining a C average while spending countless hours learning to chant useless cheers that have been chanted for twenty years, learning to find the "hole" to tackle your best friend and drive him in the ground, learning to perform a bunch of silly motions in sequence to some type of beat to a song that is just as silly. Man, you're going to use that the rest of your life? How pathetic. And you will, I'm not saying it's something that you won't use, you will use it, just in different circumstances. Like when you're drunk and your best friend's drunk and you get into an argument. You'll use that same tackling motion driving your nose into his sternum as you drill him into the hard pavement, cracking his skull. It'll be a good story for your prison bitches to keep them at bay. You'll use those same rythmic-type chants as you scream at your 4-year old in a couple of years. Screaming, "2-4-6-8, you're a fucking idiot." Or "Jerry, Jerry, Jerry..." Practicing splits is good practice for spreading your legs for every mullethead that looks good after a couple of margaritas. You'll use those same stupid gyrating motions as you change the sheets at Shiloh Inn to the beat of "Oops I did it again." The old drill team outfit will also come in handy for the yearly talent show where you'll do the same routine from your Senior Drill Review, because the drunk, former football players, and slutty former cheerleaders will keep clapping for you, cause it "takes them back." Pathetic. It's a good thing we had extra-curricular activities. You'll be better people. The Trapeze Artist By Cpt. Willard It is 2002, and you are graduating. Luckily enough for you, it is also the twentieth anniversary of The Real World. Yes, back when I was eleven and Kurt Cobain's noggin was still in tact, an experimental "reality" show was just beginning, setting out to document the lives of seven bored and spoiled twenty-somethings. Most people have realized by now (not you, we don't get MTV in Fredonia) that The Real World has about as much to do with reality as masturbation has to do with marriage. A crew of |
up to 13 people operating on 10 hour shifts who are constantly shoving a camera in your face tend to wear down on the actual amount of "real" time.
Still, that's not so far away from reality. Seven sexually vivacious people, roughly split 50/50 by gender, one gay, with heavy alchoholic appetites, all performing twenty four hours for the general public. You know, that IS reality! Think about it. I remember being in Fredonia. That's all anyone was, including me, trained monkeys, performing our entire lives out in front of an audience. Of course, with different audiences, come different behaviours. You're in high school right now. Maybe you're playing the part of the charming sex-pot or the hyper-testosteroned athlete. Those usually got people far enough when I attended FHS. Maybe you're playing the part of a religous fanatic; dancing, writhing, and frantically performing for the bishops, your parents, your community. Maybe some of you will go on a two year stint to prove you're worth the church's time. It's all the same to me, you're still just a whore to your audience; selling your time, ideals, and true beliefs for a pair of holy underwear. My point? The world is just a rabid audience that absolutley demands entertainment and they want it from you. Even if you don't/aren't doing what I've outlined above, people are going to expect something of you in some way or another and it doesn't matter if you're performing for religious status, money, or fame. You're still performing and until you do otherwise, you will cease to be the kind of human God has wanted us to be. God did not design us to be immobile pieces of carbon. We are not suited to be doorstops. We are thinking beings with a soul, conscience, and free will. We are not meant to be puppets for anyone's pleasure. This life is a blip in eternity. Paul calls it a vapor. Frankly, whatever you do in this lifetime is merely vain striving. However, if you spend your life performing, you've gone beyond vanity to blasphemy. God is the only audience worth speaking of. And with Him, it's not called performing, it's called worship and it gives us a faint glimpse of eternity. Anything less is shit. Oh, and get the fuck out of Fredonia. That place is no good for anyone. |
