Irrelevant titles are fun, don't you find? I certainly do.

 

I have. Absolutely nothing to complain about that I haven't already.

 

I could go on about the disturbingly short shorts that are coming into fashion right now, and the fact that this year I have seen about as much 13 year old leg as I ever want to EVER.

 

Or I could complain about how music is not getting ANY better, and how it seems to now have just flattened itself into a pile of radio goosh.

 

Or about how people make such a fucking huge deal about having a boyfriend or girlfriend and about how much it actually doesn't matter.

 

Or even about how freaking irritated I get when the Year Ones on the bus are calling each other 'dickweed' and 'butterballs' while their older siblings go 'Don't swear Jimmy, it's bad!' and then promptly go sit up the back and proclaim loudly what a fucking slut Tiffany is.

 

Or I could just not complain about anything and disappoint you all once again.

 

I swear, this year is the same sort of annoying as last year. And I already complained about that once. I wish people would be more original. Sigh.

 

Deary me.

 

Once again, the current generation is giving me a somewhat bleak outlook of the future.

 

I mean. It is slighty worrying when all that my brother appears to learn at school is new and exciting ways to flip someone off.

 

I didn't even know there were that many ways to do it. But apparently it's something of an art form these days. As is inventing charming insults to hurl at one another, mostly revolving around the incredibly popular 'slut' 'bitch' and 'dick'.

 

Because everyone knows that calling someone a male reproductive organ is the best way to put them in their place.

 

And if that doesn't work, there is always the age old technique of hurling some random piece of food at them and then talking about them behind their back. 'Cause that makes you such a rebel. Wow. You're cool.

 

I worry about mankind. I really really do.

 

I suck today, I'm not in a narrative mood, this is the best I can do. Shut up.

Honest I do.

Kudos to the three odd people who read this thing. You make it good.

 

Anyway.

 

Bus story. Or. More of a random collection of bus incidents really, since there isn't one big enough to merit it's own blog entry yet.

 

Yeah, anyway. Oh the joy of having new bus kiddies. No, really. Nothing is better than having a entirely NEW group of smelly preteens going, 'HAHA U WERE A CAT COLLER LOL UR WEERD Y R U WERING IT?'.

Or at least, the verbal equivelant of that.

 

And so of course, the tradition of throwing fruit out of the window at the kids you don't like is passed on to another generation. Because it's such a very intellegent pastime, and we wouldn't want to deprive any of our future citizens the chance to hurl something squishy at someone who has done them no harm.

 

You know, just 'cause.

 

And of course. It's always a pleasure to sit in front of some particularly smart individuals and listen to them banter on about what was sadder: when whatshisface died on The O.C., or when thingymabob died on Home And Away.

'OMG it was so sad he died and she was like talking to him when he was dead and OMG but it wasnt as sad as when she drowned and they couldn't find her and then they found her and OMG...'

 

I learn SO MUCH on my bus trips. It really is an intellectual battlefield out there.

 

That is. It's a battle to find an intellectual.

 

And just because I'm a dirty hypocrite.

 

Happy Fucking Valentines.

 

Feels like we never left.

 

But it's good. I have artsy fartsy subjects every single day, and my classes have a minimum of stupid people.

 

I might not fail.

 

It's late. Ish. And I have no exciting things to observe and complain about. Give it time, I've only had three bus trips so far. I'll find you few loyal readers a story yet.

 

If you were at all loyal you would comment more so I look cool. But I'll let the guilt get to you by itself. Ungrateful little... nevermind.

 

Lack of sleep, one bite of mars bar and a can of coke. Leave me alone.