Imagine me yelling that headline like the Oxi-Clean guy as a wacky, inflatable-arm flailing tube man. “Space debris in my backyaarrdddd!!!!! Waaahhhh!!!”
Ok. That’s my daily dose of crazy.
But seriously. Last week space debris landed in my backyard (sort of). A piece of a Russian satellite fell from the sky and landed in a field by my house.
What on earth are the odds of a piece of space debris landing in my backyard? They have to be astronomical! …….no? Too much? I thought it might be too much. I should really restrain myself in the future.
Either way. I hope the satellite this broke off of isn't really a satellite but is actually this:
Now a 180. Playtime is over**.
I am a senior in high school. I only have 21 more days of classes before I will forever be finished with high school. It’s a bittersweet feeling. At times I can’t wait to leave this school.
This is one of those times. This is one of those times I can’t even sit in this classroom anymore*. I need to get out.
I WILL WEAR MY BLACK FINGERS AS A MARK OF MY PAIN.
I'm editor of my high school's newspaper. I knew going in that the administration were all censorious bitchfaces. But they've stooped to new levels. I'm not going to explain what exactly they've done to bismirch the name of journalism this time. It's a long story that unfortunately includes a lot of the C-word***. All I will say is that I spent an hour stapling little slips of paper into each individual issue of my newspaper, my baby. And now I will wear my black fingers as a mark of my pain. I will not forget. When I'm studying journalism at Newhouse next year I'll remember all the shit my bitchface principal put me through.
I don't want to end on such a bad note...[but I'm having trouble embedding the youtube video so here's the link]
*When I wrote this I was sitting in English class.
**Said in scary horror movie voice as the lights flicker, maniacal laughter fills the air, and a spooky fog descends.
***Not that C-word, pervert. Censorship. It's a dirty word, too.
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