Sting Rays with Shroomy Things on their Backs

By red scare — School is for the weak, right? I should stop telling myself that, I think I’m starting to believe it. Like a good little boy, I drive to school and as I am about to make a left turn into the parking lot, this old friend of mine opens my door and gets in with his bong.
I say old friend because we strayed away in high school but we still talk on occasion.
So anyway, he asks me if I want to go smoke some chronic. I sit back, holding up about 765437695432 cars behind me and calculate the number of days in a row I have been absent, then I speed off and get really fucking faded.
I then drove myself home and fell asleep. Aw, what a fuckoing dumbass I am in the sense that I am creating drama with my A.P. English teacher, but I don’t really care much either. Second semester, senior year… fuck off assholes, I want to smoke and sleep. Santa Monica Community College here I come.

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