kill her please plzkthx
I bet that when my PE teacher goes out in broad daylight, her skin turns to ash. And then, if someone comes near her with a big wooden stake, I bet she screams in terror. Well, she should. Because I am at the point of staking her. Butch bitch needs to burn like woah.
The reason for my anger? Today was badminton tryouts and Alison and I were late due to the fact I had to drop off my backpack with Grandma, who forgot [surprise!] that I had tryouts. So at 2:30 we show up and they’re all dressed out and ready to go and we’re like: “wait!! Please!” so they do. We hustle like the wind to the locker rooms, only to find that, damnit, they are locked. Thank you, Coach Z. Just then, my knight in shining armor [rather, my unknown football player in dirty uniform] appears and opens the door to the gym [where Coach Z and the girls’ basketball team is practicing]. I ask her politely because even though I hate her, I still want an A. She says “No. You may not go in.”
A: “Why?”
Z: “Because there is a guy fixing stuff in there.”
A: Well, can I wait for him?”
Z: “No. I don’t know when he’ll be finished.”
A: “OOOK.”
Z: “WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?! Just grab your clothes and change in the bathroom!”
A: *tries to fight sarcasm * “Wellll, I don’t carry my clothes with me.”
Z: “Then, I’m sorry. Just go to your tryots.”
A: “Thanks anyway.” * stalks off angrily*
Back in the locker room hallway, I started cussing in Russian, English, and a little bit of Spanish and French.
Then we ran like the wind BACK to the tryouts and told the awesomely understanding coach what our problem [or rather, what coach Z’s problem] was. And so here I am at school ‘til four. I’m hungry, pissed, and about to start cussing again. To top it all off, I might not make the team because I CAN’T TRY OUT BECAUSE I CAN’T CHANGE BECAUSE I HAVE MY STREET CLOTHES ON. -rawr.-
The reason for my anger? Today was badminton tryouts and Alison and I were late due to the fact I had to drop off my backpack with Grandma, who forgot [surprise!] that I had tryouts. So at 2:30 we show up and they’re all dressed out and ready to go and we’re like: “wait!! Please!” so they do. We hustle like the wind to the locker rooms, only to find that, damnit, they are locked. Thank you, Coach Z. Just then, my knight in shining armor [rather, my unknown football player in dirty uniform] appears and opens the door to the gym [where Coach Z and the girls’ basketball team is practicing]. I ask her politely because even though I hate her, I still want an A. She says “No. You may not go in.”
A: “Why?”
Z: “Because there is a guy fixing stuff in there.”
A: Well, can I wait for him?”
Z: “No. I don’t know when he’ll be finished.”
A: “OOOK.”
Z: “WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?! Just grab your clothes and change in the bathroom!”
A: *tries to fight sarcasm * “Wellll, I don’t carry my clothes with me.”
Z: “Then, I’m sorry. Just go to your tryots.”
A: “Thanks anyway.” * stalks off angrily*
Back in the locker room hallway, I started cussing in Russian, English, and a little bit of Spanish and French.
Then we ran like the wind BACK to the tryouts and told the awesomely understanding coach what our problem [or rather, what coach Z’s problem] was. And so here I am at school ‘til four. I’m hungry, pissed, and about to start cussing again. To top it all off, I might not make the team because I CAN’T TRY OUT BECAUSE I CAN’T CHANGE BECAUSE I HAVE MY STREET CLOTHES ON. -rawr.-