I had a 6 hour long exam today... ENTIRELY IN SPANISH
Title: College Days
Author: drkhearted
Rating: PG for language and standardized examinations
Notes: In honor of AP exam week, I give you Frank's days when he went to St. Truly Fucked University. This would be set during his final examination ever. Oh and all of the following will be absolutely fucking hilarious if you 1) have taken AP exams 2) know parts of the brain and their jobs 3) know of the horrors of Virginia Woolf and 4) your brain is completely fried at the time of reading this.
Frank sat stuck inside a desk that has seen better days - better centuries for that matter. Showing his pride with his worn "STFU" (see: school name) sweater, Frank vigorously erased the test booklet in front of him.
In Hell, examinations lasted days if you were lucky. Some people even gave examinations that took several weeks to complete - with no bathroom or eating breaks. Most people knew this, of course, and packed their backpacks as if they were crossing the Himalayas. However, the occasional freshman would be totally clueless and would most definitely not make it out of the exam with brain intact.
Frank read the question: "If there are 17 penguins trapped on a plane flying over Puerto Rico, and the captain announces that they are going to crash, what is the probability that they will bake very-berry-choco-chunk muffins?"
Frank stared at the question for several minutes, and looked at the answer sheet, where the pentagram-shaped answer bubbles were located. He thought to himself, "Okay, I haven't seen a W in a while. In fact, I haven't even bubbled in an F since the last page. Hm..." He finally realized that the probability was 15%, as everyone knows only penguins high on cocaine bake very-berry-choco-chunk muffins on a crashing plane. Or was that the Ostrich?
It was at this point Frank realized that he probably shouldn't have taken "Flightless Bird Behavioral Statistics," seeing as his major was psychology. Yet he did need the credit to graduate. Perhaps he should have taken "Our Friend, the Post-mortum Ventro-medial Hypothalamus: Guide to Zombie Eating Behavior." But that wasn't even important now.
Frank had managed to chew all of his erasers down to nothingness. He was only on page 134,550; he was three days into the exam; he was almost out of Satan-O's; and, to be frank (HA!), his own body odor after three days of being couped up in a hot, humid examination room (which also doubled as the boiler room) was starting to gag him. The clock struck thirteen.
Frank, at this point, began to laugh. Laugh a LOT. Guffawed really. All the students looked up from their tests to glare in Frank's direction. It was at this point, he ripped up the test booklet, threw the pieces into the air, and promptly informed the class that he was sent by God to save the butterflies. He pranced around the room, catching all the little pieces as they fell. He had finally snapped.
"You know, if you don't pass this exam, you won't graduate..." the teacher in the front of the room drawled out from behind a copy of Mrs. Dalloway.
Frank's expression grew grim. His blood ran thin, his face turned white, and all the laughter came to a complete halt. He looked down at the thousands of pieces of test booklet shreds. He sighed, rummaged through his bag for some tape, and gathered the pieces again in order to rebuild the packet.
It was going to be a very, very, very long week.
Author: drkhearted
Rating: PG for language and standardized examinations
Notes: In honor of AP exam week, I give you Frank's days when he went to St. Truly Fucked University. This would be set during his final examination ever. Oh and all of the following will be absolutely fucking hilarious if you 1) have taken AP exams 2) know parts of the brain and their jobs 3) know of the horrors of Virginia Woolf and 4) your brain is completely fried at the time of reading this.
Frank sat stuck inside a desk that has seen better days - better centuries for that matter. Showing his pride with his worn "STFU" (see: school name) sweater, Frank vigorously erased the test booklet in front of him.
In Hell, examinations lasted days if you were lucky. Some people even gave examinations that took several weeks to complete - with no bathroom or eating breaks. Most people knew this, of course, and packed their backpacks as if they were crossing the Himalayas. However, the occasional freshman would be totally clueless and would most definitely not make it out of the exam with brain intact.
Frank read the question: "If there are 17 penguins trapped on a plane flying over Puerto Rico, and the captain announces that they are going to crash, what is the probability that they will bake very-berry-choco-chunk muffins?"
Frank stared at the question for several minutes, and looked at the answer sheet, where the pentagram-shaped answer bubbles were located. He thought to himself, "Okay, I haven't seen a W in a while. In fact, I haven't even bubbled in an F since the last page. Hm..." He finally realized that the probability was 15%, as everyone knows only penguins high on cocaine bake very-berry-choco-chunk muffins on a crashing plane. Or was that the Ostrich?
It was at this point Frank realized that he probably shouldn't have taken "Flightless Bird Behavioral Statistics," seeing as his major was psychology. Yet he did need the credit to graduate. Perhaps he should have taken "Our Friend, the Post-mortum Ventro-medial Hypothalamus: Guide to Zombie Eating Behavior." But that wasn't even important now.
Frank had managed to chew all of his erasers down to nothingness. He was only on page 134,550; he was three days into the exam; he was almost out of Satan-O's; and, to be frank (HA!), his own body odor after three days of being couped up in a hot, humid examination room (which also doubled as the boiler room) was starting to gag him. The clock struck thirteen.
Frank, at this point, began to laugh. Laugh a LOT. Guffawed really. All the students looked up from their tests to glare in Frank's direction. It was at this point, he ripped up the test booklet, threw the pieces into the air, and promptly informed the class that he was sent by God to save the butterflies. He pranced around the room, catching all the little pieces as they fell. He had finally snapped.
"You know, if you don't pass this exam, you won't graduate..." the teacher in the front of the room drawled out from behind a copy of Mrs. Dalloway.
Frank's expression grew grim. His blood ran thin, his face turned white, and all the laughter came to a complete halt. He looked down at the thousands of pieces of test booklet shreds. He sighed, rummaged through his bag for some tape, and gathered the pieces again in order to rebuild the packet.
It was going to be a very, very, very long week.