Our class was introduced to a new student. His name is Andre. And he’s chocolate colored, in case you didn’t get that from his name.
And seeing that he is the only black kid in my school, everyone wanted him to be their token black friend.
My school suddenly turned into last year, when everyone was fighting over the token Asian, Chung. Which as you know, I won Chung as my token Asian best friend. But everyone knows that a token black friend is worth much more than a token Asian friend. So I got to work looking for ways that I could impress Andre and make him my token friend.
I googled “things black people like “ and the next day I came to school with dreadlocks, a bucket of KFC original recipe, an Obama T-Shirt, a ‘Waka Flocka Flame’ album and an Oprah coffee mug.
None of the above seemed to impress Andre… And for some reason he actually seemed a bit offended by some of them.
He was especially angered by my greeting him with saying “Sup my ninja”… Which apparently sounds too much like another word? I don’t know…
I read on twitter that black guys like “white hoes”… So I needed to act fast to get Andre as my token friend, before Jenny got her slutty hands all over him.
I apologized to him for coming off so GlennBeckish and I even offered him some of my watermelon I packed for lunch and he got super pissed. I wasn’t meaning it to be racist… I just really like watermelon.
After explaining that to him he sort of calmed down… until I told him I had a black half-brother and asked him if he knew him. He became extremely upset again. Apparently not all black people know each other… My bad.
I would like to say that we hashed things out and became best friends. But I think we all know that we all the accidently racist things I say, it never would have worked.
I gave up on my dream of having a black friend and I let slutbag Jenny have him. She’s probably diddling his skittle right now.
So I guess the moral of this story is: you don’t always get what you want… Not even If it’s a super cool black friend named Andre.
**Please note: nothing in this post was meant to be offensive. It is all written in good fun. If you’re offended please go to the store and buy a sense of humor. Cause this s… is funny**
Today was Jenny Scrimshank’s birthday party.
I used to be friends with Jenny, and then she became a s**t and started practicing b****craft.
Everyone got an invitation to her party, everyone but me.
I’m really not one for parties, I actually hate them. But last year Jenny got her rich dad to rent zoo animals for the night. A couple of the kids got shitfaced and started provoking the lion and it snapped and attacked.
It was a freakin’ blood bath. One of the kids lost his leg.
But, silver lining, the video of the attack got over a million hits on youtube.
The year before that fantastic massacre, Jenny hosted the party on her father’s yacht. Long story short, it went up in flames and sunk. Everyone on the ship almost died. It was epic.
So basically, the only reason I wanted to go, was to see how Jenny would colossally f up this year’s party. But Jenny was too much of a bitch to invite me. She’s probably still pissed at me for spray-painting “sl*tbag” on her Ferrari.
In my defense, she is a total sl*tbag.
But putting that aside, I tried to apologize. But I guess the heartfelt apology must have gotten lost in translation when I spray-painted it on her Mercedes. But when I painted “sorry I called you a sl*tbag” I honestly meant it.
It wasn’t hard finding out where the party was, one of the emo’s (or scene or whatever the hell those retards are calling themselves) told me it was going to be at Jenny’s house.
The party was supposed to start at 11, but everyone knows the cool kids don’t get there until 12. So I got there at 11:30 to avoid looking like one of those douchebags.
When I got there the police were surrounding the house. Apparently one of the emo/scene/douchebag kids brought a gun to Jenny’s party and was holding everyone hostage.
So. Overly. Dramatic.
He said he was “sick of being treated like an outsider” Umm, perhaps you shouldn’t dress in all black and sacrifice animals to Satan, or whatever you do… Sometimes that puts people off.
And what the h*ll was he talking about? He was inside. Technically, I was the outsider.
I went home and microwaved some popcorn, my video camera and got a lawn chair and came back to watch. It turned out to be a 5hr long standoff between this kid and the fat cops. At one point the kid started crying and his mascara ran down his face. Youtube gold.
The kid finally decided to give up and come outside. Before he even got off the porch the cops tasered him and he dropped it like it was hot straight to the freakin ground.
It turns out he was using a water gun. He didn’t even spray paint it. He was using a BRIGHT ORANGE water gun to hold hostages… AND NOBODY NOTICED!
He instantly became a youtube star and he is now known as “Watergunboy”… Super clever, America.
So basically I guess the moral of this story is: no matter how bad your life is, there is never a need to hold hostages with a water gun at a wh*re’s birthday party. Things will get better.
Today all the students in my school have to meet with the guidance counselor to discuss college options. It’s a total waste of time, if you ask me.
I mean come on, let’s be real, even the best of students in this school are middle management material at best… And all of the others will either end up McDonald’s employees, coke addicts, prostitutes, drug dealers, in prison or dead.
Even after explaining this to the principle, I still had to go.
I’ve hated the guidance counselor ever since she started a few years ago. She is what I call, a bitch.
The fat bitch sucks at her job, they call her a “guidance counselor” but the only thing I’ve ever seen her guide is a twinkie into her mouth. And then she has the nerve to wear skinny jeans. Seriously, they’re called ‘skinny jeans’, not make ‘make you skinny jeans’. Thus how she got the nickname ‘Muffintop Mellissa’
When I walked into her office she was running around with a fly swatter trying to kill flies. I’m not sure what part of this was funnier, watching a fat woman run, or watching a fat woman run and flail her arms trying to kill insects. I told her she needed to stop before she caused an earthquake, and for some reason she got upset about that.
She sat down and moved some of her fastfood and twinkie wrappers off her desk so she could see her papers.
She asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I told her I planned on dancing through college, then after that I’d become a male prostitute.
She thought I was serious and she asked me if I had a back-up plan.
I told her I did not have a back-up plan and my life’s dream is to be a male prostitute, and if that dream did not come true that I’d become a serial killer and or suicide bomber. I then proceeded to get up and walk out of her office.
I thought I’d let her think about that for a while.
About three minutes after I walked out the principle came over the loud speaker and said “Leonard Lachnavich, please come to the principal’s office.”
As soon as I got into his office he told me to stop tormenting the teachers and counselors, he’s been my principle for a while and he knows how much of an asshole I am, and how much I like to mess with teachers. Like last month when I didn’t want to go to gym class so I said the gym teacher fondled me.
He told me I needed to go apologize to my guidance counselor.
I went back to Muffintop Mellissa’s office to apologize, even though I knew she really didn’t care. I’m pretty sure the only thing that worries her is the fear that KFC might run out of fried chicken.
She told me I should discuss my future and my college plans with my parents.
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
I told her she should discuss her weight problems with Jenny Craig.
I don’t even know what I want to do with my life yet. But whether it’s a rocket scientist, a doctor, a serial killer, a coke addict, a male stripper or even a male prostitute, what I want to do with my future is none of Muffintop Mellissa’s damn business.
Today my mother told me I need to get a job and start contributing to the family. I guess her career as a professional stripper isn’t going as well as she initially planned, so putting her teenage son to work to support the family is obviously the next logical and responsible step.
What about her lazy a**, drunken, boyfriend? I don’t see her sending him off to get a job.
But, whatever. I don’t care.
I started my job hunt on the most trustworthy website of all time, craigslist.
The first ad I responded to said “WANTED: Young Man to Help with Housework”
I responded to the ad hoping it was an elderly woman looking for some help around the house. Unfortunately, yet not surprising, that wasn’t the case. It was a middle-aged man looking for some action. Well, I don’t know that for sure. But judging from the nude photos that he sent me after I asked what the work was… I think it’s a pretty solid guess.
I obviously turned down that ad. But I couldn’t find any other jobs there, well none that I could keep my clothes on for.
So I kicked it oldschool, I bought a newspaper. Who even knew these things still existed? The first thing in the newspaper that caught my eye was the “Letters to the Editor” page, which is basically twitter for elderly people.
After searching for a job in the paper for almost twelve minutes, I decided to give up. The ink and paper was starting to give me a headache. I have no clue how people did this in the olden days.
I waited for my mother to get home from her job as a whore, and I told her that she needed tell her fat, lazy, boyfriend to get off his a** and get a job.
She clearly needs help in the department of confrontation, because she did not take that well.
She told me I needed to move out.
She’s so childish. But really, what was she going to do? Kick her underage son out of the house?
Yes, she did.
I told her she needed to calm down and take a walk, but she totally overreacted. She went up to my room and packed up all of my shit in a black garbage bag and threw it out the window. My laptop and xbox were in that bag. I was so infuriated by her breaking my laptop, so I went into her bedroom and chucked her laptop out the window. I think that may have possibly made the situation worse.
I decided to leave on my own and let her cool down. Or get drunk, whichever came first.
I went to Chang’s house to hang out until my mother could finish her bottle(s) of wine.
I hate going to Chang’s house. It always smells like Asian people, which is probably because their Asian. No offense, but if you’re going to move to America, at least you could try and leave your stank in your own country.
Chang hardly speaks English, which is great. Most of the time I just smile and nod when he talks, sometimes I’ll even throw in a giggle. And usually that works fine, except that one time when he told me his grandma died… The giggling didn’t go over so well.
Chang’s father asked me to leave his house after I demanded Chang’s mother to make me sweet & sour chicken. She called me a racist and gave me this bullshit excuse saying “Not all Asians know how to make sweet and sour chicken”
Chang’s father offered to drive me home but I decided just to walk.
Chang’s fathers name is Chung (big freakin’ surprise, right?) and he’s the only Asian man I’ve ever seen with a handlebar mustache. He looks like something directly out of ‘To Catch a Predator’… So I didn’t want to take any chances of Chung trying to put his finger in my no-no on the ride home.
By the time I got home my mother was passed out on the kitchen floor, surrounded by empty wine bottles and cocoa puffs.
I decided to just go to bed. And as always, my plan of letting my mother drink her problems away totally worked. By the next day she had forgotten all about what happened.
Yay for alcoholism.
Highschool is the golden years for some, but for most of us, its hell.
If it’s not the jocks being jackasses, then it’s the pretty girls practicing their bitchcraft.
Like any other school, the jocks and pretty girls ruled the hallways. And unfortunately, I wasn’t born a pretty girl… Mainly because I’m not a girl at all, I’m a guy. And contrary to the rumor the jocks spread, I do, in fact have a penis. And even though that rumor was spread last semester, I still get called “Ladybits Lenny”
Sports were never my thing, so I never felt the desire to be a jock.
Jason, the leader of the jocks, never ceased to amaze me with how many times he could call me “gay” for not playing football. Yeah, I’m the gay one because I *don’t* run around in tight pants tackling other sweaty men and grabbing balls. Makes sense, right?
I’m super thankful that my home life is just as poppin’ as my social life. My mother’s boyfriend is a grade-A-douchebiscuit named Shaw.
He works two jobs, the first is sitting on his fat ass watching ESPN, and the other is sitting on his fat ass watching ESPN2. He literally does nothing but eat, shit and drink beer. He’s like a big, fat, white-trash, alcoholic, lazy as shit, baby.
I’m clearly blind as to what the hell my mother sees in him, but if she wants to waste her life with this scum, then I guess it’s fine by me.
My mom works twelve hours a day, so I hardly see her. But I guess someone has to finance Shaw’s alcoholism. I honestly have no idea where she works, but she always has a lot of dollar bills, so I think I have a pretty good guess.
She has never been shy with hinting that I’m the reason she has to work so much. She makes it pretty clear when she and her friends play the game she made up “Where would I be if I wouldn’t have ruined my life by getting pregnant at 17”… She busts that one out at every dinner party.
But really, is it my fault that she was the class slut? No.
One time, when I was twelve, she said to me “If it wasn’t for you, I would be an actress.” I quickly responded with “Don’t flatter yourself mom, we all know what type of films you would be in if you were to be an actress.” Her palm quickly responded back to my face.
I’m not calling my mother a whore, but she is.
I have a half-brother named Atlas that lives with my biological father in Atlanta. And of course he gets a cool name like Atlas and I get the shitty name Leonard. I met him once when I was young, and he’s a dick, as is my father.
My best friends name is Chang, he’s Asian and he hardly speaks English. Which is totally fine, I don’t care what he has to say anyways.
So basically I’m keeping this journal because my life is shit and I think everyone should read about it… Also my court ordered therapist says I need to.