Your life in a nutt shell

One Minute Monologue

This is you notebook. It is not for homework, simply for drawings and feeble attempts at answers. This is your Algebra class, don’t worry you wont learn anything here. Every purpose of Algebra is to torture you into submitting to the man’s will. There is no purpose in knowing A squared plus hypocritical nonsense equals stupid pointless blurbs on life’s insignificant time line. Don’t worry even if you fail Algebra, daddies money will buy you any lovely place into Harvard or Yale. So don’t worry your life’s great, fail everything. I don’t give a fuck. Free the animals from the zoo, throw our government into an Anarchist paradise just whatever you do don’t make our lovely community look bad. This is your calculator. It doesn’t actually do anything useful, its sole purpose to have lame pointless games played on it. The only other purpose your calculator has is to torture you in math. With the potential to get the right answer it never has the pure guts to give the answer to you anyway. Your seat is conveniently placed next to the window so you can daydream for hours on end. Three seats across is the most beautiful girl you will ever meet. No matter what you cannot have her, she is not yours. You will feel guilty at staring at a girl so pretty, and you will wonder why things didn’t work out. You will cry because you are not beautiful and you are not as strong or as fast as her boyfriends. You will cry because she is popular and you are not. You will waste hours on end chatting to her, she will tell you personality matters the most in men. Light will come in from the ceiling and for once in your life you will feel like you have a simple chance at this goddess in a mortals body. If you believe this you are a fool, she will date the biggest bastard in your grade and when you point this out to her she will look affronted and reply “What ever!” You will lose touch and school will end. College doesn’t work out. You sit in the bare lonely apartment as sirens blare out side of the lower Harlem streets. You look at the empty cup of ramen and think of that girl, you look at the cracked ceiling and you wish she was here….