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High School
Freshman year of high school is like stepping into middle school’s chewed up, barfed out gum.
The bullying, bureaucracy, and conformity leaves a foul aftertaste.
High school tastes revolting, but at least it tastes slightly better
than middle school school.
But with an army of friends by your side is like having a team of medics who stabilize your throbbing pain of boredom with antibiotics.
As senior year approaches like a golden ship reaching the horizon, you sigh with relief.
The four-year reek of High School evaporates, and you sigh with relief, as you approach the podium to get your diploma.
“Thank god I made it,” I shout, as I snatch my diploma and toss my tasseled cap in the air.
Saying that high school is better than middle school, is like saying
that Lenin was better than Stalin.
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