As we draw to the end of Term 1 of Senior school, I lapsed into a reflective mood and began to reminisce of another time, or, dare I repeat the cliche, the good old days. (Eww...that felt gross) I remembered my first day at our noble school, that first time I sat down for Tutor group. I'll never forget that wonderfully judgemental gaze received from a certain Jim Hawkins as I sat next to him with an expression that seemed to scream "NEW KID!!!!! WHO'S FAT!!!!!! AND SMELLS KINDA WEIRD!!!!!!" I knew it was a relationship that was bound to flourish into glorious friendship between he and I. Of course, Caesar and I had not met yet, and would not until camp, whereupon we both realised that we knew the lyrics to the web-song "The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny". If you've never seen it, here is the link, do it, and will consider not hunting you down in my Aragorn outfit and slaughter you like the filthy orc you are: http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/showdown
Moving on, Caesar and I immediately formed a strong bond, which is to say that I formed a bond with him. I learned many years later that his first thought was in fact along the lines of "The f**k?!? This other fat kid is stealing my spotlight!!! And he keeps getting the lines wrong!!!!"
But in all seriousness, we did become friends. It's such a strange thought that other kids looked at us and thought "Wow, there go Cicero and Caesar, those guys are cool, not really that weird. I respect them." I honestly don't think anyone saw what was going to happen; the sick, twisted pair of feared psychopaths that would plague our beautiful school. But it did. Now suck it up.
Pussies.
One of the brilliant things about looking back is that you can laugh at some of things that you once considered tragedies. Such as an event that happened not two weeks ago. As I am sure many of you know, I was in possession of some impressive sideburns that reached my jaw-line. I was told by a certain lady that I had to shave them, but because I had a certain bad-boy reputation to protect, I chose not to. I naively arrived at school feeling like Legolas after he downed an Oliphant all by himself. (Note: I hate Legolas, but love Gimli. If you don't know these people SHARONA!!!! Then you are banned from this blog until you find out.) I was walking with my classic gangster swagger into my last period of the day when I felt someone grab my arm from behind. Thinking this one of my many annoying friends pulling a silly prank, I proceeded to do what any other reasonable person would have done in the same situation: I began to shout obscenities at the person without looking, as well as jerking my held arm back and forth so I was elbowing the person behind me. This went on for 10 or so seconds until I looked up and into the eyes of a nearby teacher whose eyes were wide. His mouth was open and he was shaking his head back and forth voraciously. I turned and saw the face of my extremely beautiful and smart year coordinator, the same who had told me off for my unshaven hair-pieces.
The next 10 minutes are hardly worth repeating, since I, the hero of this tale, am abused and insulted, and since I know none of you want to read about that, I will simply say this: It sucked. It really, really did. Imagine a very angry (but beautiful and smart) animal snarling in your face for a seemingly infinite amount of time. Of course, while I didn't say anything that would worsen the situation, be assured that I had a large repertoire of sharp and witty responses quite ready to be employed. However, since the situation demanded it, I simply put on my best impression of a scared teenager by apologising profusely, sweating, whimpering and wetting my pants a little.
What can I say? I'm a good actor.
I'd also like to take this time to look back at some of our year's more memorable times, such as Year 9 Camp. Many people arrived back from Camp with heavy hearts, sad to leave just as they had begun to form new and wonderful relationships with people they had hardly met before. I admit, I did shed a tear or two after getting off the bus back in Canberra....but mine was not of sadness, but of pure and unrelenting joy. Those 10 days were some of the worst in my entire life, forced to spend my valuable time stuck in a god-forsaken hell hole in the bush. On the first day, I was bitten by a bull ant whilst collecting firewood. However, since the gods have such a sense of humor, they decided that being bitten by a gigantic ant and having to report to the camp instructor for appropriate medical treatment in front of all the girls, said girls were also discussing 'issues of the feminine nature'. As you can probably guess, this was pretty awkward for both parties, but mainly for me, who had just wandered into a crowd of pubescent females talking about how to deal with problems that may arise on camp. Keep in mind this was on the 1ST DAY! Things did not improve over the course of my camp time. On the third day, I developed a very nasty rash in a very private place, which made my every step a living hell, which was an issue, since the main point of Camp was to walk as much as we could each day. Oh, also, it sucks double when you're up a mountain with a pack that's heavier than the suggested limit because some of the girls in the group need a break. I don't want to complain, or you know, insult anyone, but I hope you all die screaming. And not in a good way. You seedy bastards. The chafing situation became worse when I finally decided to tell our female camp instructor who had to make a note of it in her notebook. She was also a slow writer who mumbled when she wrote, so I was entreated to this performance of this stranger softly talking to herself about my nether regions and their horrendous skin defect. Aside from these specific examples, the food sucked, I lost an unhealthy amount of blood to mosquitoes AND I lost my epilepsy medication on the second day, leaving me with 8 blissful days of wondering whether or not I was going to lapse into a fit. Like I said, people loved Camp, just not me.
Another time in our year's tumultuous history would have to be the Semi-Formal. While nothing amazingly outrageous happened, it was still quite enjoyable; no one died, there were no fire fights, or wizard duels, which did make the evening a little boring at times. That what makes it such an important time...because we did not make total ASSES of ourselves. Throughout out time at the school, our year has been infamous. In YEAR 7, I was told by a teacher that our year would never pass Year 8. We have the highest expulsion and suspension rate of any year, and in every major event for the past 4-5 years we have managed to disappoint our teachers and destroy the reputation of our school. Some people may think this is a bad thing, but encourage us to embrace that as much as we can, because the worse people think you are, the more you get rewarded for doing something good. A classic example is that of the boy who never makes his bed, until one day he randomly decides to do so, and is given more allowance that week, even though the goody-two-shoes nerd next door is punished when he DOESN'T make his bed! Let's not make our bed's, and make the school HATE us, and get it to a point that when we decide not to do the wrong thing for once, the school loves and rewards us. Screw trying to be the bikies dressed in a Tuxedo, let's see if they can expel AN ENTIRE YEAR! Let's go down in history, ladies and gentlemen, let us be legends.
As I sit here, writing this for the only one or two people who actually read it, I am, or perhaps more appropriately, was, easting a delicious casadilla, a Mexican dish. The reason I say was, is because I have just spilt it down my lap and all over my $200 hoodie from America. Now, immediately, some questions spring to mind:
1) Why are you eating while typing this blog?
2) Why are you doing that with a $200 hoodie on?
3) Why weren't you more careful?
4) Why are you wearing a hoodie at all? Who are you trying to impress you pretentious twat? I bet you think you're pretty cool don't you, you.....
Aside from the third, all very good questions. The answer to the first is simple: I was hungry. Anyone who knows anything about me should know that, if you don't, the you're a bit of an idiot aren't you? Idiot face smelly poo. But I digress, and while the odour of your feces is important as is the intelligence of your face, I must return to answering your questions. The hoodie: I was wearing it because it is a) Very warm, and b) Very snappy and increases my already sky high sex appeal. Why wasn't I more careful? Umm... because I eat very fast without care for my personal health and the safety of those around me? Maybe? Or it could just be that I'm really fat and wasn't paying attention.
The next big question that may have occurred to you is this:
4) Hey Cicero....have you cleaned up the food, or have you, y'know, just sat there....? (Note: Yes, I re-used '4' as a question number, because your last number 4 was a little immature and I'll ask that only serious questions are asked in the future thank you very much)
The honest and frank answer to that, is no, there is still food everywhere. Am I vainly attempting to heap the food back onto my plate, hoping to save what looks like a hopeless situation? Maybe. Was I in fact succeeding...until it all fell of again onto my feet! GODDAMN IT THIS STUPID CRAP!!!!!
Nevertheless, this entire situation simply proves to you, my few and dedicated readers, how desperate I am to keep you hooked, as I just wrote a whole passage of bloggage with a big lump of cooling meat on my crotch. Surely this is ample information to spread this to all your friends, or if you're female, to offer yourself unto me. Please.
And so ends this blog post. Please send all complaints, compliments and naked pictures of yourselves (again, females please) to our e-mail which can be seen in either our contact information, or more easily, on our first post.
Written by Cicero
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