Yo, so this is me returning after a not-so-well-deserved break from writing. After, what, one month of miserably fumbling about in class and gallivanting across Japan and Greece, I’ve reluctantly come back to the blog. And it’s no heroic return either.
In my boarding school, we have to put up with a certain atrocity called ‘Golden Hour’ every evening. There’s absolutely nothing whatsoever that’s ‘golden’ about it, unless you really do dream of being locked up in a room for (ahem) more than an hour and forced to study in complete silence with no laptops. Not my flight of fancy, mate.
But time to time, textbooks threaten to bore stiff, and it so happened that yesterday, I found myself sitting next to the most vexatious of dunderheads. I have this one diminutive, wiry creature for a classmate, and by this point almost everyone in the grade has likened his appearance to that of a reptile. A reptile whose forked tongue is forever lashing out scatterbrained claims of muscles we know don’t exist. A reptile whose entire life is spent scurrying around our dorm and bringing terror and misery to humans who bear some trace of relevance. A reptile whose… Anyhow, back to Golden Hour. For some wicked reason, I ended up sitting next to this royal pea-brain, and gouging my eyeballs out didn’t seem particularly wise. But then again, neither did Chemistry or Physics, and so I whipped out a pen and set about writing. A twenty-line punch in the face. Because ain’t got no time for you, bro.
No action for you, bro.
First, second, third base;
Just strikeouts for you, bro.
No Game, No Life;
Were you born dead, bro?
You make girls sweat;
But they sweat in fear, bro.
I cry in the dark;
Eyes can’t open to you, bro.
Censorship no more?
Watch me turn away from you, bro.
Finish line at infinity;
Watch me race away from you, bro.
Rainbows in the sky;
But just red from your neck, bro.
Now go buy yourself some doughnuts,
And reach home plate at last, bro.
So just get out of my face, yo;
I’ll get out of your… where’s the face, bro?