This may come as a shock to you, Reader, but not everything I post on this clearly labeled satire blog is completely true. I promise it’s all inspired by true events, but I do happen to have a relentless flair for the dramatic that I just can’t kick. My tendency to exaggerate however, I think is forgivable in exchange for your entertainment. What I am about to tell you now, however, is a true story. No exaggeration. No extra details. Just unsightly, nauseating high school reality.
Not too long ago while dragging my feet down the LHS halls on my way to AP Statistics, I was suddenly frozen in my tracks. There, not more than a few feet from where I was standing, were two of my fellow students, a guy and a girl. And he was attacking her. Upon observing their frantic movement and breathless struggle, I obviously rushed over to save the day.
And then I stopped and ran in the other direction.
What I had mistaken for aggression had turned out to be... affection?
There was no attack. They were making out.
Now why did I share this with you, if not perhaps to make you throw up in your mouth a little bit? This blog post is a request. A plea.
I call to you, couples of LHS. I implore you romantic entanglements, you “friends with benefits,” you “it’s complicated-s,” and you freshman boys who aren’t mature enough to call what you have with that girl in your math class a relationship yet (you text her every night and you’ve met her whole family but yeah sure, it’s not serious).
I beg you.
Oh, I must not realize how panel after panel of beige lockers set the mood. I must not be aware of how romantic the hallway music can be. I must not know how irresistible your significant other looks under fluorescent lighting. I must not understand what an incomparable aphrodisiac the smell of the LHS halls is. But still, I find it very very hard to believe that it just can’t wait.
So please. Stop. Please stop. Please. Please. Stop. Please. Please stop.
Signed, with the amount of affection appropriate for a public setting,