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The Story of High School

By: Miss Marm

Pervs, farts, and volleyball: yup, that's high school. Thanks for the story, Sarah Bruley!—Miss Marm

I woke up at 7 a.m. and unfortunately, did not feel like P. Diddy. Unfortunately for me, homeroom at Morass High starts at 6:45, which meant I would have to sweet-talk my way out of detention again. And when I say sweet-talk, I mean bring a tray of cupcakes to Mr. Rasp, the man in charge at the attendance office. Judging by his pale skin, baggy eyes, and several chins it’s easy to tell that Mr. Rasp is not well acquainted with the great outdoors, or sunshine for that matter. Most latecomers arrive in his office and are greeted with his glazed expression and reeking odor of his flatulence and leave with a detention slip and loss of appetite. However, the more experienced upperclassmen, such as myself, have learned to take advantage of Mr. Rasp’s soft spot for baked goods and manage to leave his office with only the slight odor of his office lingering in our jackets.

I finally reached homeroom at 7:15 and immediately found Mr. Trevrep yet again attempting to flirt with my best friend, Maggie. Today, Mr. Trevrep had slicked down his comb-over with so much gel it looked like he shoved his head in a bowling ball shiner.

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