ACT I: The Ephemeral Bliss Agents

Philogynist - A lover or friend of women; one who esteems woman as the higher type of humanity.

Misandrist – someone who hates men.
Misogynist - One who hates women. adj. Of or characterized by a hatred of women.

Those are the words of the day, because I damn said so, that, and they’re words we all don’t use enough, clearly. I say this because no one walks up to me in the halls of the prison (school) when I’m flipping off the annoying twigs of preppy bitches and calls me misogynist. Actually I’d probably stand there dumbfounded for a minute or two, just trying to recollect what that meant again. Thunderstruck face just gaping at the lady, and yes, it would be a lady because no guy besides me would look these words up; but if you gave a lady enough anger, men, I’m sure they’d be pissed enough to look up new words they could use to describe you better and bitterly. Only a women would get that disrupted from a simple gesture as a flip of thine middle finger. Thine fingers point towards thou females, let thou head frailly drop towards thou’s home, THE BITTER DEPTH AND REPOSED! I like talking like that, it’s fun, you all should try it sometime. We could start a new/old fad or whatever; bring back the good-ole-days you know?

What was that?!?

Oh stop being a such a misandrist bitch, bitch!

I tease, and I hope you don’t look up even more words and names to call me to describe your hatred for me. And clearly you would have me all wrong because I am a definite philogynist. I am! Ask my best lady friend ever, my girlfriend, if I am! I’m such a philogynist that, if I was anymore of a philogynist I’d be gay. That’s right! I said it!

Breathe it in.

Don’t question my sincerity, or I’ll revoke it. No, no, I can’t help it, I’ve grown up being taught those morals of treating ladies better than men, but regardless I treat them a lot alike and in the best way I know of, as if they were of the same on my plantation, a slave. –snaps- “ice cream, now—snaps—before I decide to give your meal to the dogs this evening.”

perdition n. - Loss of the soul; eternal damnation.
ehhhh. People haven’t seen or woken to perdition until I have them stay over at my mother’s place when she’s worked the entire night before… Ouch, only then could you understand the full meaning. World War II, that ain’t shit until you’ve felt the baleful stares and iron clasp of my fair mother and her selective hearing actions.

Anyhow, I hope this dress Stephanie gets will be something of the delight, because I know it’ll be that way for me. I think her moms going to have a flash back to when she did the whole prom thing back in the day, but I hope that doesn’t interfere with the contemporariness of it. I do believe they’ll be some controversy over what is appropriate and so on. Wish I could be there, better than being here, in this damn lab. Haha, with all these people just unknowingly annoying and disrupting my peace and serenity--not to mention, this feeling I have in my gut, like I’m just about to let go of a large load I’ve been carrying over my shoulder for a long walk, not so much a relief because this bag contains something extremely valuable to me, my contentment with the day; who’d want to let go of something that wonderful?

I’m listening to upbeat music, Pinback, and hoping to feel better, but I see that there will be no challenge in that, because not only is this lab nearly complete but for some reason things seem brighter, for now. Forget this, my other classes during the day go so freaking fast that sometimes I actually want more time in some of my classes, just to finish the work they’ve set out for my attention and grade. All it takes is a little time, focusing your eyes on the work, and the next thing you know your class period is almost over. What a graceful feeling, apathy is the only similar feeling. I must choose to look ahead to the end of the school day but not too far, or look back to what has happened, which normally leads to bad thoughts of the past: time wasted, people wronged, regrets of all sorts, and resentment of people.

Forget all this.

“What about those people in the slaughter houses who deal with that sort of shit all the day long?”

“Yeah, this guy was prosecuted for kicking some chickens out of his way--Just kicking them--I mean, for one, they were about to die in two hours, two, they’re chickens, three, you probably ate them, four, you didn’t notice.”

“::laughing:: yeah, I heard about this guy who was in deep shit for taking chickens and throwing them at the wall”—“::laughs:: yeah, yeah”—“by their heads, ::uses hand gestures and arm motions to describe the manner of the subject:: just like laughing with his friends, throwing them at the wall, what a job!”

“I saw the video of that on T.V. ::laughs::”

Part two. Ephemeral chuckles and banter glances

**intermission**

But first, mantra - A commonly repeated word or phrase

So like when I say, “get your eyes outta ma-pants” or “Groper!” or even “What’s up you?”

“good, just like that” ::laughs::

**__and back to the story__**

The note I left yesterday for the senior whom assumes my computer when I’m through, the second half of the day:

Dearest Sloppy Person, (who sits here after me)

Could you not leave empty bags of chips on the top of the desk? I really don’t mind if the trash is in the drawer. Please be courteous and stop this insolence.

Thank you,

That will be all

P.S. Kid Rock?

So, today, the bell rings, we all stumble into the classroom looking for our computers,-- funny thing is they’re always in the same place—and I see my computer with chair atop the computer monitor, the weird tradition the seniors have—I don’t know if they realize that can screw up the monitors—with a shirt over the keyboard, even more trash to the left of the computer, the drawers wide open with shirts and lunch trash everywhere, and the note crumbled up and on top of everything, as the focal point of the image’s beauty.

What a douche would do that to me? Unless it was a joke, because the note itself in the beginning of all this, yesterday, was a complete and utter joke, by which the teacher had overheard and did not pop even a diminutive smirk or sign of acknowledgement. I don’t think Mr. Rose was happy with me for my reaction or the senior for the mess in the first place.

But to continue this whole laugh and give me something to do in between my project here during lab tomorrow, I’m going to leave another message on the previous message in hopes of fulfilling my ambition of contentment.

The continuation of the letter that was crumbled and thrown atop the heap of trash on my computer desk:

P.P.S. do you know what taberknackling is?