World Ends! The Poor, Women, Minorities Hardest Hit
A professor over in the UK–Dr. John Brignell–decided to compile a list of links detailing all the problems global warmism is causing (that little weather phenomenon I like to call The Warm Front). Prepare to spend the entire weekend clicking on these links folks, ’cause there are a lot of them. The one obvious thing they missed? Well, they forgot to mention global warmism preventing me from getting laid in High School. It’s true people. Allow me to explain.
It was 1985, and I was on top of the world. I was in the eighth grade and just found out I was once again getting socially promoted to the next grade level. Ninth grade here I come. Nothing could be better folks. All my “ducks” were falling into place. Prince had a number one album, they picked up Miami Vice for another season, I was getting that new 27 pound arcade controller for my Nintendo, the Red Sox were beginning a season with a rookie named Roger Clemens who was going to win us an ass load of World Series over the next 20 years, and it was determined by my guidance counselor that nothing higher than basic general math skills were going to be something I’d need in the retail sales or food industry. General Math III was my bitch, and I treated it as such. Take that fractions, you retarded cousin of the decimal!
I was about to be a ninth grader in Junior High School — the top dog. It was like being a senior, only without all those military recruiters. No more getting my ass beat by anybody san the dean of boys, and tons of “action” from all those low-life eighth grade bitches. I was finally going to be the top dog for the first time since the fifth grade.
Then it happened. A little piece of me died inside when I heard. I can remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, beginning my day like always; at the front of the class, sharpening my mechanical pencil in the pencil sharpener, when the teacher broke the news. It was announced that the ninth grade was going to be moved to the Senior High School the very next year! DO F**KING WHAT?!!! ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!!! The teacher was not happy at my outbursts at all. Actually, I did shit my pants a little when I heard the bad news.
I begged the teachers to hold me back so I’d at least be a “senior” in the eighth grade, but it was a no go. My system of scaring the shit out of my teachers to the point where they couldn’t wait to pass me no matter how little I had learned was now working against me. All I could do was look back at all the mistakes I had made, like sending love notes to the teacher (be they male or female, 30 or 90), or answering all of the questions on the test with just the word REDRUM in really thick red ink. I even did it with the math tests… on scan-trons. Nope, they were getting rid of my sorry ass, and I’d love to of been a fly on the wall at that teacher’s lounge happy hour party the last day of the school year.
So, I went on to the ninth grade at the Senior High and proceeded not to get laid every day because of it. It had nothing to do with me, or my clothes, or my super cool sha-na-na hair, or my 115 pound frame. I just never got the chance to be that top dog is all. Thanks a lot public school system, you failed me in so many more ways than you will ever know.
Oh, and thanks for nothing GLOBAL WARMING!