choke points

While walking to 6th period today, I was sucked into the vortex of a 'choke point,' as my koishii calls them. My original assumption was that a posse had stopped to form a pentagram in the center of the hallway, but as I continued being dragged through the void of the 'choke point,' I realized it was actually two girls who had randomly decided to initiate a conversation. I expected them to be frantically discussing how their house had erupted in an inferno the night before, and how they had witnessed their elderly neighbors throwing their shriveled bodies into the flames. You know, something of relatively high importance. I don't remember what they were actually talking about -- after years of practice I've taught myself the fine art of being selectively deaf. However, I can assure you it was some trivial 'Dawson's Creek'- and/or 'WWF'-esque topic.

Although my hit list has significantly decreased in the past few months, one thing that still annoys me to the point of serial homicide is when people are consistantly oblivious to life outside of their cage (a cage that they themselves swallowed the key to, even!). My first idea was to reach over and rip off their faces. I shook my head in disapproval. No. No, can't do that. There's a law against that shit. My second idea was to perhaps impale spoons in their foreheads. Damnit! No spoons! Finally, after diluting the gruesome violence, I concluded that I would gently shove them to the side a la the aid of my shoulder. My reasoning was that maybe if they were abused enough they would consider continuing their conversation elsewhere. Like, oh, I don't know, at the bottom of a staircase in a sticky puddle of their own chilly blood.

To my vague surprise, a flaw was hidden deep, deep within my plan. Had I factored my 73-pound backpack into the 'gently shoving' part, I would've exercised more caution. But hey, that's just icing on the cake. I ended up forcing the girl to take a step or two to retain her balance.

Her indignant glare of disgust was the funniest thing I've seen since Wang unsuccessfully attempted to teach my Japanese teacher a secret handshake. Her eyes screamed, 'God damnit, what the hell are all of these dumbasses suddenly doing here? I could've sworn I painted my name with nail polish on the wall back there signifying this as my turf, I guess everyone in this dump must be illiterate. Fuck, I've instant messaged Jesse Ventura time and time again demanding that spelling my name correctly be a grad standard. He must've actually been serious when he typed all that shit about being too busy impregnating his mom to bother doing anything productive.'

(sidenote: For all of you non-Minnesotan peeps, 'grad standards' are a set of projects that are required by state law to be completed before you can graduate high school.)