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Author's note: READ THIS FIRST!

There are people out there, in the real world, who think that there is a privacy law, protecting their name from abuse. I am one of those people. If you do know who I am, don't tell anybody. And if you're dying to know, I left clues in here. But enjoy it for the humor, and not the clues. That means that I have to change everyone's names, except for a few people: Hanna, because she wants to make herself public, Wong, because he wants to advertise, and my tormentors, because they deserve to be tormented for once. Without further ado,

The Book of Rant

* * *

So here's how it went with the Skedar Queen:

"You need to part your hair on one side. People will think that you have no sense of style."

"I didn't brush it since this morning." I said.

"Oh, really? I saw that you had brushed it after Boston Public got over."

Wow. Some times people say to me 'Whoa, I wish I didn't have a mom like that.'. Hey, I'll trade any day of the week. Personally, I don't even care about my outward appearance unless I have hairs growing out of my ears, wearing those huge baggy pants that people wear, or that I have man-boobies. Eww... man-boobies.

People say that I look like Rei from Evangaleon. If she was a man. I'm thankful to be a man. At least I don't have to go to the bathroom in a horde. Just then:

"Hey, Tanis! Happy birthday to you!"

"Yeah, hurry up, gimme my container." Mmm... Jelly-rolls. My mother said that she wanted some and that if I didn't get her some that she would drop her hologram and slash me into-

So I was supposed to be carrying the jelly-rolls in that container. What wonderful, fine specimens they'll be, victimized till they are flat, gooey, and between my biology book and my Japanese binder.

I am in Foods. Foods 2. That's where you learn how to make food. I also have Foods before lunch. I cut on meal costs that way. It's also where the jelly-rolls are coming from. People call my cooking untrustworthy. I call it good food.

I was in Foods 2 today, starting on my jelly-rolls, when all the sudden this girl named Amy looks at me. I look back. She smiles. Deep shit. I go back to my jelly-rolls. So there I am, blending my egg whites till they made little peaks, and the teacher, Lauren, comes over to help.

She thinks that I am one or more of the following: autistic, insane, incompetent, underage, brilliant, blonde, dumb, drunk, or hormone proof. I am actually only two of theses things: brilliant and hormone proof. It was way back when, in the Nam war...

It was way back when, I was at a dance party with girls...

It was way back when, I was three, and I just figured how to break 200 WPM at reading...

Aw, damn it. I forget when it was, I had to go, I held it, 10 hours later, a hot girl was standing in front of me. You call her hot. I call her female. Like on Star Trek: 'Yeah, I'm madly in love with this one female...' I can't even tell if they're hot anymore. I shall sue Bob Dole for the havoc he created on my hormones, unless he can give me some free Viagra. It doesn't work, but it tastes like rock candy.

Back to the point: Her name was Hanna. She actually looked like the Rei from Evangaleon. I had B. O. I noticed it; she doesn't. She has B. O. now, too. Wait, that's the substance females use to attract men. Perfume. Eww.

* * *

I ate Chinese food today. You know, the stuff where they give you such big portions, so you roll around for the next three hours. On top of that, they add MSG to their food by the megagram. That's 1000 times of a kilo. So then you are rolling around, clutching your stomach. I ate a huge container of Mandarin chicken. It tasted good, but right now it is revolutionizing. I am typing with one hand, and my other hand is on my stomach.

My stomach did like the mocha-cream jelly rolls I ate today. With the coffee so powerful you eat a little dollop, and boom! you get stricken with this buzz 3 times the rate of beer. But the jelly rolls didn't sit good. I was on the john almost all of fourth period. Happily, there was no horde present.

There was a horde on the bus that I was on after school. Cody Hartzog was sitting right in front of me.

"Boner. Boner. Boner. Boner. Boner..." He said in his monotone voice to me. Then, after about 35 Boners, he said: "You look pretty angry. Why don't you hit me?" I thought that it was a joke, like those Pull My Finger jokes. Like when George H W Bush said to Clinton 'Pull my finger.' Clinton pulled his finger, then promptly farted.

So I got Cody lightly on the legs. He stayed silent for a couple of minutes, then he got me with what he thought was a hard left hook. He hit me. I laughed. I figured he hate me, but it was funny. Cody, this supposedly strong guy, could not make a crippled nerd cry. After a couple of minutes, Everyone else laughed once they found out I didn't cry, and Cody cried.

I saw Amy again. I was fixated on the skittles that she was holding. Mmm. Skittles. I had a dream last night. She and me were making food in the same kitchen, and we were talking in Japanese, giving each other orders, suggestions, etc. The thing was, I ain't be gettin me grammar very straight:

Translated: "Hand me that spoon over there." Amy said.

"Where spoon." Notice the lack of a question mark. It continued like that for a few hours.

I got my grade report in Foods. A. After she, mom, looked at it, She said:

"We need to do something about your hair." NO! What if I like this look?

"How about when you get paid again?" She just started her job today.

"That's in a month!" Yes, it is. And if you hadn't noticed, I've been evading you like that for 2 months already.

* * *

I watched The Mole tonight. It was a gyp. They didn't even show the final quiz. That's like a comedian saying 'This guy walked into a bar with a pig under his arm, could you come back tomorrow?'. There are very few exceptions on TV that don't have those To Be Continued endings. When you're getting the Birds and the Bees from your parents(I never did), do they say 'And Fuzzy Bunny met Fran Bunny, maybe later, honey.'?

The Birds and the Bees must be really humiliating. It's funny to hear the words coming out of your gym teacher's mouth, having him say any name of genitalia three times in a row without laughing, but when it's your mother or father or worse yet, your grandmother or even your son, ha! That'll be the day.

I've heard kids running around campus 'You're a fag.' 'Incest makers!' 'Get a room!' 'Eww! Everybody's hugging!'. What do these kids think they are, Eminem, or stereotypical white guys, or west/east siders?

There are at least 40 different groups in the school/war zone that I attend. Cheerleaders, Jocks, Marketers, Rednecks, Stoners, Freshmen and Sophomores with the exact same haircut in their third year of Earth Science, Techies, Nerds, Geeks, yes, there are three different categories. There is one person who defies all these categories. And because everyone has to be in a category, says school society, (ha!) my category doesn't have a name for it. Fill in the blank with something other than the name George W Bush:

Name for Tanis's group: _______________

"Dubya" is stupid. He took 1 and a half of full hours of my television viewing time on almost all channels just to hear geezers speaking monotonely: 'The Democratic report says we're going to die, Dubya wants a peanut butter sandwich, Texas is floating away, Dubya needs a new hat but there isn't enough in the national budget..." Simpsons was missed today. Let's all say "D'oh!"

* * *

Why do people make pants with waistbands that are two feet wider than what everyone wears? You see people running around with their pants around their knees, all the adults are wondering 'Are they trying to act cool?' and then they pull their pants up again. People call it Hoisting the Flag.

I've heard a lot about the Flag, and the way Robert puts it:

"I'll pay for people to have a one-way ticket out of this country. Go to Cuba. Japan. China. Did you know in China they monitor your menstrual cycle, ladies?... Yes. School is only for the elite, like the top 20%." Does this mean that this country is full of geniuses? Hardly. Have a look at Patrick Wall. His brain fell with his pants. He also has this peculiar haircut, like the other third of the school has. The hairs are cut to the length of armpit hairs, and then blown upwards. It's like the school got taken over by the Borg: 'Resistance is futile. Shape your hair like mine. Put down Tanis. Eat food.'.

I was eating food and drinking soda at the store today, and all of the sudden all these motorcycles go rumbling by. 4 or 5 at a time. Going to Sturgis. I've never been to a Sturgis, but I think it goes something like this:

"Hey! Do you all like motorcycles?"

"Yeah!"

"Will you all buy this here Honda 560000DX LX SRZ XL MD?"

"Yeah!"

"Even though it costs a hundred G's, there's no engine, no lights, no seat for 2 people, no windshield, no heater or even a speedometer?"

"Yeah!"

"Then why don't you all just go next door to the Bicycle Sturgis?"

"Yeah!"

I see that not many people are taking to riding bicycles. They always have skateboards, or shoes, or scooters. I hate those things. They can't even go over a bump in the sidewalk, they're about the length of my arm, and my brother has one.

* * *

The school went into lock down today. I, however, was sequestered privately in the library next to two smelly women and Cody. I didn't get punched. Escape was definitely possible. And I escaped. I went to the CLC. And while I was there, I evaded Megan, about 40 students, the police, FBI, Army, Air Force, Air Guard(Traitors!), Cody, Sara, etc. And then I was sent to the slammer. It was very big, had lines on the ground, and I'm willing to bet you were there, too.

Mmm. The Slammer. Not a good place to be. They must just have a wall behind there and just slam you into the wall: 'Ka- splat! Next!'. I wonder how the police would perform if they were slammed into the slammer that I was slammed into.

Sadly, because of the lock down, there was no Amy. No smiling. No deep shit. No good yet untrustworthy food. There was just the Slammer.

After I got out of the Slammer, I walked home in the rain. When Congress saw the Earth, did they just decide 'Hey, lets make it drop lots of water to annoy taxpayers and raise water bills!'? I bet that was Gore who said that.

Dubya, on the other hand, with his 'PB&Js for W' isn't so good either. He planned to scrap a natural disasters program on the day of the quake.

I saw the insides of the women's bathroom again when I was running from the law. It's a really peculiar place. They have their toilet seats urine-free, flushed, and get this: they actually lined their seats with velvet! So their legs don't get numb when they're sitting there for a half hour! Their toilet paper is on the spool and not on the floor! What do we have to line our seats with? Patrick Wall's hairy ass. Nathan South who has no control. The scores of freshmen who don't know where the flusher handle is and the sophomores who think it is cool not to flush the toilet. Their bathroom even has this groove in the floor like the Oregon Trail where the hordes came in.

The women's sinks actually work, the mirrors aren't lined with sexual obscenities, and they have no graffiti! Wow. That's the one reason I dream I'm a girl. To use the bathroom. As Homer Simpson puts it, ' '. I don't know how to spell it, but he drools and his tongue hangs out the sides, it's kind of like muffled laughing.

Mmm. Women's empty bathroom. With man-marks now in it. They're hunting me down as I type. I'll never invade their lair again.

* * *

So far, sighted in the school park, there have been Cher, Madonna, Al Capone, and an invisible canine. How they saw an invisible canine is beyond me. Now although there are two ugly women at this park, I must say that answering to:

"Do you want to go out with Kim? She wants you to." has to be one of the easiest questions I've ever answered. And if you're predicting my answer, you've got the wrong psychic. My answer was to shudder and walk away.

"She ain't that ugly! Honest!"

Honesty. There's a policy for you. Like when one of my friends was discovered to have done pot twice without liking it. Ryan nailed him all night long about it. Guilt. There's a policy, I think. I bit off a head of a gummy bear when I was 8, and I felt guilty. Or when I was doing dogly acts to the basketball pole.

So today I went to the store. Wong is the owner, and he always played oldies in the background. He got only 3 customers. Us. We saved his store from eternal damnation with good techno rave music. Shortly after Shane put it on, everyone showed up! But I had to leave. Damn.

Damn. That's a powerful word. Like when you get hit by the snipers at the real Area 51. That's all you think. Damn. I wonder what they're hiding in there. I think it's Jimmy Carter's pubic hairs. Or maybe one of those six foot tall latrines that they had in the 30s. Or maybe Elvis Presley.

I think Fox has paid Area 51 to shoot people and that's the only reason why they have those signs 'Snipers shooting to kill. Copyright 1998 Fox Network'. They shoot a guy, they film the injury, they screw up the film, make it look that the guy was the dimmest crayon in the box, probably a blonde, and then air it, with a title 'When People Attack: Dumb Guys Go Places'.

Now although technically my hair color is blonde, (and I just might dye it blue to look like Rei) I am not a blonde. Have never put my snoo-snooer is another blonde's ear(can't), have never swam out to a cornfield, have never called 'Daddy!!' to change a light bulb, have never been called humpya dumpya, or anything else.

Phrase that blondes have never said: All your base are belong to us. Or: Take off every Zig for great justice. Who has been sneaking in my base of special juice again? Nice joke, but can you take it out of Japanese grammar first? I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll set you up the bomb.

* * *

Today was lazer tag day. That means running around with guns the size of either your fingers or your head, freezing your hands off, having to go to the bathroom, ordering a newbie with a perverted mind who doesn't know what he's doing around, getting shot at, resting from running a mile, being hungry, thirsty, sleepy, all so you can win this battle.

Now, training a perverted newbie is tough. This particular one had aim equal to Nathan South's bathroom control, bathroom humor, was traitorous:

"Hey! I'm shooting you!"

"Damn it, fool! You're on my team!"

"I know!"

"Stop shooting!"

And when he was dead, would keep playing:

"You're dead!"

"I know!"

"Then stop shooting!"

I lost. Big time. It was 0% us, 180% them. That's why I don't train newbies.

* * *

I got a haircut today. My life was cut with scissors. I don't look like Rei anymore. For that matter, I don't even look anime. After all I attempted to say was, or should have been: 'Take a little off the top.' Salon grammar is very confusing:

"I want a basic cut."

"Basic cut?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, that stylist over there said that what I wanted was a basic cut."

"I don't even know her."

"Hey, wait. You're my grampa!" Yeah. Haircuts.

My grampa can hold my attention for 900 years. Just by holding a twenty dollar bill in my face:

"Now you take this money,"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll do what ever you say."

"I'm not done yet. Now you take this money and you put it in the bank."

"Yeah, I'll put it in the bank. 2 hamburgers, a drink and fries and there should be enough to chip in for an N64." And as soon as he was done, I put it in the bank, and when I went out to Cheyenne, I'd go to one of those old fashioned candy stores, and it seems that whoever owns them doesn't know what you're pointing at: 'That one.' 'Here?' 'No. Over there, next to-' 'Don't put your hands on the candy!' 'Well, that one next to the orange striped ones, yeah. Gimme one of them.' 'They're 6 for a dollar.' 'Uh, okay. How about the ones, next to that green one.' 'Here?' 'See where your hand is at? Not there.' 'These?' 'Yeah. How much do they cost?' 'How many do you want? My back is killing me.' You keep him going, and it's wonderful. There are actually tournaments out there to see how long you can keep a candyman going.

* * *

I have been to Los Angeles, and I have noticed one thing: does it make any sense to put the dip sign two inches before you get to the dip? 'What's the sign say? It says-kapow! -dip.' They should put the sign after you get to the dip: 'You have just hit a dip, thank you very much, we appreciate that.'

In San Francisco, where all the gay guys live, they have the worst hills for building a city in or on. It's fantastic. You go straight up some of these hills, and you keep going up: 'Where the hell is the land for crying out loud?' That's one of the few times I've stood up in a car and said 'Where the hell is the land?'. Some people put the brake on when they go down the hill. They're crazy. The back of the car will just go up and you'll go down the hill upside down. The insurance company won't cover you with a head-on collision with a hill. And if you don't stop: 'Welcome to the Gates of Heaven. How'd you get here?' 'Me and a sedan careened into the bay.' They won't let you into heaven for that. They have this one hill, Lombard street, and it's one of the steepest ones out there, and if that isn't bad enough, it has turns and grooves in the road, and flowers where they've buried the people who have killed themselves. Lombard street. Wonderful street.

* * *

I got off the bus today at the elementary school, just like every other day, and it dawns on me: I had to lift up my legs to avoid stepping on people. There are kids running around that are 2 or 3 feet tall. My legs are 3 feet 7 inches. The kids are running around hollering 'Pokèmon! Yay!', celebrating birthdays(Pokèmon, no doubt) with those cone shaped hats and white frosting cakes, wearing Pokèmon everything, not hanging from the basketball hoops, running as fast as we walk, and practically living in a minivan.

We hang from hoops, think the 11th commandment is 'Thou shalt not get involved with Pokèmon.', birthdays at home, with friends and rave techno, like every other day, no line drawn artwork, more than one teacher, and girls.

Boys to girls. Elementary School:

"Eww! Cooties! Aaah!"

Girls to boys: Elementary School:

"I like him, he's cute."

Boys to girls: High School:

"Oh yeah. She's so hot, with those 10 gallon jugs..."

Girls to boys: High School:

"I like him, he's cute."

But back to the point, I remember my birthday. I went to a melodrama. That's like a play with 2 main differences: One: When the hero comes, you say "Yay!". When the villain comes, you say "Boo!" or "Hiss!". Two: There are yellow snowballs to throw. Now this is really groovy. When the villain comes on stage, or the tickets cost too much, you take your hard earned dollar, you fork it over for a yellow snowball, and you throw. Then the villain or usher, as I remember goes "Ow." Just don't hold onto them for too long. Either that or bring the bathroom sink with you.

My brother once tricked me into eating lemon flavored snow. It wasn't lemon flavored, and it tasted awful. Like I said before: Damn.

* * *

While we are on the subject on my grampa, he's getting up there. 55 I think he is. The one subject of conversation that you really get out of most grandparents is:

"You know who died yesterday?"

"No gramps, who?"

"You know Billy, your dad's brother's cousin's son-in-law, lived up in the hills and played roller derby and ice hockey with the dad who said he'd live longer than me? Yeah. The whole family died. Yesterday. I guess I won't be around much longer." He's been saying that for five years now. 'Guess I won't be around much longer.' And then I go to see him:

"You know who died yesterday?"

"No."

"A lot of people." Soon I'll have to go to his [funeral.

Funerals always sound so forced. You're up there, straining to come up with a eulogy for dirty Harry, who was into pimping, drug dealing, robberies, and murders.

"He's a great man." And then after the funeral is over, you just say 'I feel sorry for him. At least it wasn't me.' When it is you, however, people will just strain themselves to come up for a eulogy, then 'Oh, well.'. Funerals. The only thing besides Jerry Springer to break up a wedding.

* * *

Mothers are beautiful. For one simple reason: they will cry for anything. You can take a piece of wood, you don't even have to wipe it off, and put a little nick in it. Carry it on home to mother. She'll say:

"Oh my heavens, it's beautiful! Come here, I forgive you for everything!" You take that same piece of wood, give it to your dad:

"What the hell is this? A piece of wood, get it out of here." That's why fathers don't get good presents. On Mother's day, you work your butt off for money to buy her things, and when Father's day comes around:

"Don't you know it's Father's day for crying out loud?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Gimme a buck. I wanna buy you a candy bar." And you eat it on the way home. And it isn't even his kind.

A mother's biggest weapon is her voice:

"Didn't I tell you not-" If you are within 30 feet of this voice, it will decalcify your spinal column and you will drop to your knees 'Mother, I'd rather you hit me than yell at me.'. Now, voice is a great weapon for Dad, too. His sound is a low growl. I was hanging out at a friend's house that I long forgot, and his dad comes into the room, 6 foot 11, 230 pounds, 'Uhhhhh!'.

"Okay, everyone. Spread out. He's going to hit someone. No sense in letting him get all three of us in one shot."

* * *

Before I started writing this, I was straining for ideas. I watch television, and, as Bart Simpson knows, TV can reduce your imagination. Well, not if you write about TV!

Let's see here... I need something to write about... Um... Uh... I'll be back. I have to sit on the john.

So, I was watching TV the other day, and it seems the networks are doing one thing: playing God with people's marriages. There was Fox's supplement to "Who wants to marry a millionaire?", Surprise Wedding. Now, what's the point of that? You walk up to a homeless guy on the street(or Clinton): 'Do you want to marry me?'

Then, as Bart Simpson indirectly quoted on a blackboard: 'Temptation Island is not a sleazy piece of crap.' Oh, was he ever right. The only thing they could have done to make it sleazier is to have the couples go nude a la Richard Hatch.

I wonder what someone could do with a million dollars. Get Fox to take their crap off the air. Bribe the snipers at Area 51. Make some food. Maybe, perhaps, enjoy the next issue.

* * *

* * *

The Book of Rant - Second State

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