BEEP, BEEP,BEEP,BEEP…

I hate this. I hate setting my alarm for 7AM after staying up until 1AM studying for a test the next day.

I hate how I sleep through the alarm and wake up only to drive 30 minutes to a school that’s 2 miles away.

I hate school. I hate how we have to sit here for four years just to get some diploma that’s just as flammable as toilet paper but yet somehow twice as important…..

I hate Math class. I hate how I have to work tirelessly just to keep up with the kid who simply stares at the indiscreet cleavage of the girl who sits next to him. And I hate how I don’t have the heart to tell either of them that she’s only 15.


I hate the taste of vomit.


I hate Lunch. I hate how I have to wait in a 30 person line just to eat $1.00 fries that I probably won’t eat anyway because they’re too cold.

I hate history class. I hate how people have been teaching history for thousands of years but yet people still make the same mistakes over and over again but on a bigger scale each time.


I hate homework. I hate engulfing myself in a monotonous gauntlet of binomials and Victorian antiquities just to earn a square-inch number on a transcript. And I hate how that same square-inch number is never good enough for anyone. I hate that.

I hate the news. I hate how newscasters lie about news that was based on a lie and how politicians use those lies as a foundation to tell more lies to regular people and how those same regular people tell those lies to their children who are too naïve to recognize that they’re being lied to.


And I hate how one of those children will become president of the United States.


I hate politics. I hate how the fate of millions is decided by dozens and when something goes wrong those millions look up and bitch at the sky as if its God’s fault.


I hate God. Wait, no I don’t. I just hate how I try to be a good person and pray for world peace, the end of poverty, and a good grade on a Math quiz and how the last one comes true but the first two just keep getting worse.



At night I lie on my bed and think of all the things I hate about society. I become so helplessly exasperated under the weight of the world’s amoral humor that rolling a blunt is the only thing that makes sense to me right now. My nerves settle; and as my lungs inflate with herbal sin, my mind lingers into euphoric abandon. And for once I’m at ease.

I close my eyes and listen to my Mickey Mouse clock tick mindlessly:

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

And I suddenly lose myself within the weightless eternity that has become my room.

Then, out of the ether, I hear someone rambling:


“A child will starve in the streets today
Unnamed, unloved, that child will lay
And while his mother dances unaware in a neon cabaret
you will keep on Living

“Babies will die from who knows why
Unbaptized matter covered in flies
And while all their mothers shout and scream, ‘Why?!’
you will keep on Living.

Today a soldier will die in war
A price paid to defend democracy’s holy core
And while a mother’s tears keep the Only score
you will keep on Living

“Shut up, Shut up.” I whisper. And the voice continues unphased:

“Murder the holy
Rob the poor
Destroy all the things that
Mothers adore
And when your overestimating God comes rapping at your door
Answer, ‘Do your worse; fulfill your chore!’
For regardless of whether or not my feet meet Hell’s floor
All the politicians, criminals and promiscuous whores
Will laugh and scoff for they will keep on Living.

The voice fades away and I start coughing uncontrollably. And before I can figure out how the hell I got on the floor, I fall asleep.

A dream ensues.

This is why I hate smoking.

ACT 1 OF Dream
SCENE 1
Cast: Bartender, Drunk, Hero


Cue Curtain


Setting: Our hero sits at a booth in a Midwestern bar. A fan spins mockingly as thirsty customers noticeably squirm in the indoor humidity. The heat is so immense it would make Satan sweat; the air so dense it borders on fluid. But yet our hero sits patiently; blankly sipping a Coors while his skin grossly condenses into a fresh coat of sweat. Every once in a while he glances above him for there is a gleaming commemorate plate of Barrack Obama overlooking the bar. Suddenly, our hero squints as the door ejaculates and a yellow spray of light violently spills into the bar like vomit. A silhouette stands slumped in the doorway: about 6’1, 170 lbs, with an extra 10 lbs drooping beneath his hopeless eyeballs like two grayish-colored growths. The man only takes one step and he stumbles onto his face like a toddler. He extends a long arm and his fingers desperately cling for traction. The man’s feet dance as if on ice and his arms pick his body up onto the stool with the strain of a dying soldier making his last stand. Through all this the bar remains silent. The fan keeps spinning. Cue dialogue.

Bartender: (in an uncaring voice) what’ll it be mac?
Drunk: shot’a yager.

As our hero watches intently the bartender shrewdly hands the drunk his beverage. The drunk sighs and picks up the shot glass with two hands; as if he’s never used a cup before. His adams’ apple violently oscillates as only half of the liquid actually makes it into his mouth. Chin still dripping the man bellows an unruly belch and mumbles an inaudible apology. The other bar attendees remain silent as if they’re deaf. The plate has no complaints. All of a sudden the drunk bursts into tears. The fan keeps spinning. Cue Dialogue

Drunk: (sobbing) O Woe! O Woe is I!
Bartender: (flippantly) What’s the problem?
Drunk: (sniffing) Well, it’s my children. More of them are starting to become homeless; some lost everything because of the economy. Houses, cars, everything! On top of that, they hate each other. Every day one of them hurts another or causes another one anguish; and sometimes they fight over me! It’s terrible! I don’t know that to do…they’re so lost…

The bartender ponders for a moment and his eyes gleam with epiphany. Cue dialogue.

Bartender: (while reaching into his pocket and handing the drunk a rosary) Don’t worry. Just come to God. He will save you.
Drunk: (with inebriated terror) B-b-b-but…I am God.

Cue Curtain

End of Act 1

Then the voice from before starts laughing maniacally: Hahahahahahahahahahahahah!

I wake up with in a cold sweat and I’m as sober as a priest. I look at the clock and its 1AM- I passed out.
For some reason, I’m mad. Mad at everything. Mad at this world and its endless zodiac of stupidity and lies and how I have to get hammered just to even the score. This injustice cannot go unanswered, I think. War, this War! And for an instant, my adolescent testosterone boils as I vehemently declare war against an unfair society of $1.00 French fries and political subterfuge. I decide that I’ll drop out of school, publically denounce this world of pointlessness from the top of my roof in a regimental display of demagoguery. From my roof I will carve E plubrius unum into my chest with a pencil and sing sweet, sweet ballads about the audacity of hopelessness. Then as a finale I will pick up a 44. and wildly shoot like a monkey five burning rounds straight towards the moon: my battleplan for my war against the universe. Yes, yes! I have waited long enough. Give me anarchy or give me death!

But then my mom knocks on the door and says sweetly,

“Good night, I love you!”

And then I sigh and set my alarm clock for 7AM.