my mornings never feel like real mornings. i don't think i've ever experienced a true sunrise, where i was prepared for to see it shine upon me. it's a shame, i know. maybe i'm just a fortunate vampire. blade the vampire hunter is out to get me, i just know it.

i wake up, in the dark of night at 4:30, and i have a horrible time getting out of bed. in an ideal situation, i'd commit myself to some sort of program that would encase my body in a stasis chamber, which would allow me to sleep for 1,000 years. imagine that, a thousand year sleep. sleep is my fuh-reakin' heroin! i think i've said that on here before, but it's so true!

i get to zero period, and i pick up thanh bui's violin, because he is never in class. two minutes into class, just when i think i'm going to be playing for the full class period, thanh walks in. that motherfucker! i offer him his violin back, and like most days he denies taking it, but i force it on to him. i sit down on the floor, so ms. dosch cannot see my instrument-less body not doing orchestra-esque stuff. i proceed to pull out my cd player with the weezer pinkerton shelled within it, as with the psat prep packet-thing, which i study for the remainder of zero period. while i'm listening to my cd, it's odd to hear the orchestra play while there are silent pauses on the album, like in song transitions.

me and kim check in with mr. dowd before we go to the lunchroom for the p.s.a.t. mr. dowd, that nigga!

the p.s.a.t. is alright. i feel alright; i don't feel extremely stupid, or extremely smart. hopefully, i'll have more success on the actual s.a.t., because i'm not getting into any goddamn college with the goddamn knowledge i have now.

college sounds like it rhymes with knowledge, yo! how couldn't i get into a good college, with these skills. how couldn't i be a goddamn heart-breaking song-writer, with these skills? how couldn't i be the motherfucking EAST COAST DC SNIPER, with these skills?

the p.s.a.t.'s got me out of my first, second, and third periods of the day, and so anthony, tyree, tamara, minh, and i load into anthony's nissan sentra, on our vigilant quest to purchase corporationalized "mexican food" at taco bell. i order a bean burrito, a double decker taco, and some mexi-nuggets. believe me when i say, this is as healthy as it will ever get, unless some fast food chain decides to sell lentil soups. that would be raw! and fucking disgusting.

after getting our food, we return to school TO EAT OUR FOOD. rawr. i see amy, and we all sit against the wall. i suppose i'm not a very nice thing to look at when i'm eating bean-laden foods. i feel the eyes of people WHO READ THIS BLOGSITE, looking at me with the contempt of judgement, because i'm sitting next to her. believe me when i say, OKAY GUYS, i'm not a fucking loser, nor a jagoff, and you are all looking in from the outside, LIKE I GIVE A FUCK. it's not like you people give me attention anyway. i'd be gay for you people, if any of you wanted it.

well, not really. HAH! i'm sorry to have mislead all of you gay fellows out there, but that doesn't mean you boys can't dress up in drag and give me a holla!

fourth period, oh fourth period. we take a vocabulary quiz in la clase de espanol. by the way, my brother just told me that "bitch" in spanish is bruja. "they have bitch, but they don't have 'vagina.' jeez, who wrote this, larousse? those french bastards." maybe my brother john is the EAST COAST DC SNIPER!!! aaaaa!

whos your dad 21: fagasaur

just now, mustafa called me a "fagasaur!" that crazy dark-skin!

so after spanish class, comes fifth period. winmill makes us form a circle-jerk around four people, and we discuss and review biology stuff. it's quite EXHILARATING, like playing pong. pong rules. rey has a space-aged version of it, on his palm pilot. i was playing it in spanish, yesterday.

we interupt this blog to bring you this special bulletin: RYAN DONKERS fuh-reakin' LOVES WINMILL.

rdonksgk1: yo
joseph guanlao: hey
rdonksgk1: can you do me a favor and get winmills email address for me?
joseph guanlao: runwinmillrun@aol.com
rdonksgk1: oh ok
rdonksgk1: thanks

this is evidence. ryan donkers TOTALLY wants to have sex with winmill. maybe he hasn't heard, but winmill has a girlfriend. or is she really his girlfriend, or some girl he pays annually, to prove that he's not in fact, gay, so he and ryan donkers can have MAD ASS LOVE? this concludes this special bulletin.

sixth period is way more chill for me than it should be. i need to get my act together, and actually WRITE SOMETHING. i think ms. anderson is slowly realizing that i'm just an overly silly kid, with no regard for SCHOOL.

as i'm writing this blog, i'm watching the simpsons. it's the episode where homer becomes mayor of one half of the town, and THE WHO guest star. i wish i could live in a small town like springfield, where every person is a distinguished and designated WEIRDO.

after school, amy and i recycle, along with tyree, that fun-time ruiner. we walk into senora ana miller's classroom to get her recycleables, and ms. hughes, the teacher assistant, tells me i have to finish my quiz. WHAT THE FUCK! so i finish the quiz, while tyree waits for me in the classroom, and as amy recycles the rest of the third floor by herself. how could i have not finished the quiz? if i do have any regard for school, it's not very APPARENT.

we walk into mr. wood's classroom, and i call him a liar for some stupid reason concerning recycling, and then he asks me if i've seen braveheart. i tell him i have, and then he tells me that if he could, he would through me out the window, like the prince's "military advisor" in the movie. for those of you who know, that "military advisory" was the prince's homosexual lover, so i accuse him of calling me gay, and i tell him that i am going to notify administration. MR. WOOD CALLED ME GAY!

cross country practice is weird. i run with the girls and marvin law, and i feel fuh-reakin' fast. in fact, towards the end of practice, paul muto tells me that if i worked that hard everyday, i'd actually "be a runner." what. the. fuck. what does that make me now? a fast jogger? he said "it's there" [the running talent], but of course he knows that i am to dick around for the rest of my years. i get a spasm in the top region of my legs, and so i lie down with the white light of the sun filtering through the trees, on to my quivering body. i need to stretch more, i guess.

after practice, mustafa and i wait for the 106. mustafa is a cool guy, and he's also probably my most melanin-blessed friend. on the bus, we talk about people who are gay, because gay people are weird, and we love to make fun of them. of course, we're not talking about REAL gay people, just fucking faggots.

amy has a modesty disorder, because she's fronting like she doesn't know how SEXY she is.

i never do homework, i do blog. and that, in itself, is probably the stupidest thing i've written or said, all day. all day and all night, yo!