High school is a combat zone. Perhaps incognito, high school is vile in all ways, shapes, and forms. High school is destruction of humanity. From blondes to redheads, and albinos to bronzed beauties, there is no fair play. Manipulation, deceit, lies, and forbidding grades are the fate of these entire helpless quarry. After many devastating centuries, mankind has learned to adapt to this revolution. Fighting for freedom and molding to the staggering state of affairs, students have mastered separation brilliance and competence, creating differences with style, interests, and appetites. One thing that will never change… there is no escaping these dreadful high school cliques!
“Whatever! She only makes an appearance every month because her parents pay her for every C on her report card.” The prosperous, preppy, popular kids that everyone loves to hate, famous for self involvement, shopping sprees, and cruel intentions. Armani blazers, Dior flats, Kenneth Cole aviators and jewelry from Tiffanys define this clique, along with their pompous arrogance. The survival of the preps would be slim to none without their faithful limousine chauffeurs, personal fashion coordinators, gourmet chefs and faithful butlers. This group is complete with haughty drama queens and wealthy heirs. Useless without their army of followers, these pitiful spectators have watched the high school incessant battles from afar, sipping champagne, and eating caviar.
Dim-witted jocks that have yet to comprehend the overexposure of the lettermen’s jacket stand alone in the food chain. Pumping iron, chugging protein shakes, and buns of steel are the athlete’s top priorities. Fear of academic probation limits their success. Constantly being tackled, fouled, or pinned, results in skull fractures and limited vocabularies. The appropriate attire for the sport congregation is school colors, muscle shirts, spandex, sweat pants, and Nike shoes. According to the “Athletes Guide to Life for Dummies,” steroids and personal trainers are a necessity.
After watching the intimidating rednecks ingesting fresh-picked, uncooked corn-on-the-cob, while hopping off their John Deere equipment, it was clear to see that diversity was very much alive. Sporting flannel shirts, denim overalls and work boots. Monster trucks smothered in mud and four wheelers are a given with these guys. Missing teeth, violent pitchforks, and harvested crops mean business in their “country.” Inspired by cowboys, the overrated twangy music they consistently blare educates all within earshot of pressing...