Two hours and counting until call for the final performance of "The Yellow Boat." I figure you could find worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon than this, rounding up all the pictures you took in the past week ('till your fucking camera fucking broke motherfucker) and sticking little pieces of text to them. I could be drowning kittens, or stealing food from the mouths of poor kids, or writing that play I'm supposed to.
Anyway, there were speeches, and a human American flag composed entirely of seniors, which I think had about three or four stripes, (how many original colonies where there? Only like five or something, right?), the football team unraveled another flag while their captain gave a speech about how mission statements are important when we talk about living our values, or how values are an expression of our goals, or some drivel somebody wrote for him. Poor guy. Our school is chock-full of this fluffy kind of feel-good crap about "empowering excellence" and "acheiving vsion," all of it headache-inducing and meaningless. Kind of shameful, actually. I mean, I bet you these veterans never talked about "living their values" before they went into battle, hell no, these guys went out and shot Nazis because there were Nazis that needed shooting, dammit, it was just the right thing to do. They didn't need a mission statement, besides the US Constitution. And here we are wasting whole reams of paper and perfectly good breath on this useless psuedo-inspirational psychobabble that no one listens to. Oh well. I guess it's a luxury we can afford, thanks to guys who put action before words.
And then there were cheerleaders performing to "Coming To America" and "Born In The USA," and then there were skydivers.
Every story should end like that. And then there were skydivers.
But I'm being misleading. That wasn't the end.
Hi, I'm Clint.
How's it goin', Clint?
Good. That was a good speech.
Thanks, glad you liked it.
You know what's weird? I have a Godzilla video that has the Twin Towers in it. It's Godzilla, and Megalon, and they're fighting on the Twin Towers.
Wow. That's pretty crazy.
Yea. Maybe I should make a copy of it. Bring it in sometime.
Yea, maybe you could.
We could do Yellow Submarine, and I'll be Ringo. (*says something in a dead-on Ringo accent*)
Yea, we'll have to see about that--
You ever notice how Wakko on the Animaniacs sounds like Ringo? He's all (*more Ringo-talking*)
Wow, yea, I never noticed that. Could you smile for me, Clint?
(*Click*) Thanks, Clint. Well, I got to get to class...
Yea, hey, maybe I could get your number some time!
Yup, well, we'll see about that...
A lot of people complimented me on the speech that day. But Clint was by far the most interesting.
Like most days are, it was a mix of triumph and tragedy, only amplified by about a thousand. To wit:
Pretty girls from all over the world come to America to talk to me in Humanities and play my wife in plays.
These people will not be joining us today.
One hour 'till call. And then there were skydivers.