Niggas wanna cry
I feel a rant coming on soon. Not this one, another one.
Katianne needs to die a little. Just a little. She knows that she annoys the fuck out of me. In band, she just, incessantly plays all the wrong notes. There's this one phrase...I swear to god, she fucks it up on purpose. EVERY SINGLE TIME she plays the fucking dotted quarter notes like they're fucking eighths. They're not even close! Holy fucking christwagons. She doesn't even play 16th notes. She does this like, flippy gracenote-type thing that has no definition or direction in it whatsoever.
And she drops our fucking music all of the time. I could understand, once in a while, I mean, she's clumsy. But what the fuck? Every time she takes out a piece of music, she damn near drops our entire folder of sheet music.
But the best part is, whenever she knows that I'm mad, she either asks me what's WRONG, over and over and over again, or she sucks up to me. Like in lessons one day, I told her to stop playing..just stop playing. So she offers me chocolate! "Oh, guess what Brittany? I brought a chocolate to school today! I also bought you an entire wardrobe and am now in the process of building a brand new meatball factory! Would you like a share in my profits? How does 110% sound, huh? Okay, now pull down your pants and show me your ass, so I can kiss it and make love to it."
Fffffuck you, Katianne. I wish death upon you, and upon Mr. Castiglione's stupid fucking "protected" list.
Just kidding.