Give 'em a challenge

roommates

Dear Brianna,

We have received your recent inquiry concerning your admission.  Based on your self-reported information your eligibility will not be affected by these changes.  Your admissions decisions still stands.

Sincerely,

UCLA Undergraduate Admissions and Relations with Schools

Heheh! You see that? That's the most beautiful few sentences you'll ever lay your hairy eyes on. So you might as well convert this into a novel and sell millions! 

I guess I've learned an important lesson here: No matter how bitter you act towards your teacher and lazy you are about your work, you'll always receive an email from UCLA saying that you're still admitted.

Maybe we should go deeper: No matter how ruthless and disrespectful you are in life, you'll always receive an email from UCLA saying that you're still admitted.

But I think I've learned something very important from highschool overall: A hopeless and negative attitude combined with a personality that just wants to have fun will get you to where you wanna be: in your chair in front of a computer screen, reading an email from UCLA saying that you're still admitted into their school.

I moded him!... but I didn't

So I had a wonderful but depressing dream last night. Depressing because I woke up and found out the dream is not real.

For some reason, I'm with Gianna Garcia who was in my AVID class and we run into Mr. A-hole Anderson in a dark and scary alley. I don't know what we were doing in a dark and scary alley but it probably symbolizes that Anderson is a shady drug junkie who has demon ancestors.

AnyHOOT, A-hole asks us how we are doing and I don't say anything as I am in the background hating him.... I always seemed to do that when I was in his class. 

AnyFART, me and Gianna happen to have our report cards which Anderson asks for to take a looksee. Gianna complains about a C in some class and Anderson pretends he feels sorry for her. When I voluntarily show him my report card, he mentions that it sucks I got a C in pre-cal.

I reply, "Yeah... but look at this D you gave me! You know, I've been insanely angry about it. I might get rejected from UCLA. I don't get it, you were supposed to help me to get into college... which probably also means keep me in college."

He stares at the report card while taking out a pen. He writes an A over the D while incoherently saying that he didn't mean to give me a D, it must've been an accident...

Apalled by this excuse, I yell at him saying what a stupid and reckless mistake to make! Man did he look sorry. And I'm at it until I wake up.

mother eff.

My attempts to write a short story

Attempt No. 1:

She smelled her breath. It was horrible. Her pen was stupid.

Attempt No. 2:

 She smelled her breath. It was horrible. She looked at the fortune in her hand.
What you seek is within your grasp.
"I hate you," she said. She crumbled the fortune and threw it across the room. She sulked to the floor and started crying.

The End.

Attempt No. 3:

She looked at herself in a mirror. And then ate a sandwich.

Attempt No. 4:

         She looks at her red-painted pinkie nail. The paint is chipping. She peels some off and wipes it on her
bedsheet. That bed is filthy anyway. She takes a bite of her sandwich. She realizes she just took a bite of a sandwich. Where did it come from? There was already a million crumbs everywhere. She stares into the bitten sandwich. It was beautiful. She crumbles it like it is a horrible short story and throws it across the room as she screams. She sulks in her bed and begins to cry.

The End.

Attempt No. 5:

           She had just finished writing a short story. She reads it over like it is the best piece of non-literature ever written. What she does not know is that the story would never appeal to anyone within the vicinity of herself and an alien in outer space. Maybe an extra extra extra extra-terrestrial, but never a terrestrial with only one extra. 
           Lisa reads the story over one more time. She finally sees how unappealing it really is. So she punches a street sign and gasps of pain. And then frowns with the epiphany of, not only the short story being really stupid, but herself being really stupid.

The End.

In Conclusion: I hate myself.