i really, really, really, really, REALLY hate GP.
written: 4:53 p.m. on Monday, Jun. 28, 2004

Today truly nails it in for me. The fat, ugly truth about GP, pimples and pus included. I've always known that it's an utterly worthless subject and I've always hated, absolutely hated, the fact that I am being coerced by fat men in suits without a clue into taking this asinine subject, but I never knew how disgustingly rigid, unbending, and callously uncreative this incredibly farcical piece of shit can be, until today.

Folks, this is unprecedented. This has never happened before in the history of the world. So I got back some test I did on the last day of school, last term. All was fine and dandy; even smiled a bit when I saw that '40' on my comprehension script (out of 50, duh, why would I cheer over a failure?).

But all hell broke loose when I turned to the back of my essay on terrorism and saw 25.

TWENTY. FUCKING. FIVE. For a fucking uncreative piece of shit GP essay.

No fucking way. I think I mentioned this before but nevertheless, it was on terrorism, and yes, okay, I shouldn't have spent half the essay talking about the Iraq War, and yes, it wasn't a very good essay, but for goodness sake, it deserves at least a thirty, no more than a thirty-three.

I'm not even ranting about the fact that I didn't get an A. And hello, if I think I deserved a C6, I wouldn't be writing this at all, but the thing is, whoever the fuckhole was that marked my paper seriously has got his head stuck all the way up his ass.

Why do I assert this? For the following reasons.

First of all, he has absolutely no sense of irony. If I said in jest to any random educated person on the street, like, "I wonder if the Iraqi war were really Operation Iraqi Freedom, OIF, or Operation Iraqi Liberation, OIL", that person would get it. Like, fucking hell, it's fucking point-blank obvious. And guess what the idiot wrote on my script? "Explain."

Fuck you. Why do I have to explain such a simple thing to a person who is supposed to be more intelligent than I? Don't tell me you have not come across this joke, because I sure as hell did not come up with it. Why do I have to explain every single goddamn thing, including this little comment I made in parenthesis about me refusing to use the acronym "WMD"? And the best part of this stupid guy who kept asking me to explain stupid things is that he wrote "explain the acronym" above IRA, which I already did in the fucking paragraph above. So I forgot to write IRA in parenthesis next to Irish Republican Army, but hell, draw your own fucking dots, for crying out loud.

And that is not all, oh fucking hell no. Tell me, what the hell is wrong with dissecting a question? What the hell is wrong with me saying 'in our dissection of the question'? You're ripping the goddamn thing apart, you're dissecting it, you're analysing it, same goddamn difference, so what the hell was his problem?

And he had the fucking audacity to say that the Iraq War is not relevant to the question. What the hell are you on you dumb dolt? George W. Bush and his stupid administration claimed that bombing the shit out of Iraq was part of their agenda against terrorists, or have you stuck your stupid head so deeply into the sand that you didn't even fucking know? Even if I don't agree that the Iraq war is a fight against terror I still acknowledged the bloody FACT that it was fought as a war against terror. Every intelligent person knows that it's not, but that's what George Bush said, and the Iraq War is a clear example that in our desperate attempt to kill the fucking terrorists we have ceased to be human, and ta-da, I answered your stupid, precious question, and hence I deserve so much more than a fucking 25.

What the hell is wrong with 'emotive language'? Am I not human after all? I know I am prone to emotionally-retarded tendencies but I thought GP encourages empathy in world issues and I felt strongly about the Iraq War, and for that I got a 10/20 for language?

God, I am so pissed off. And the most hilarious thing is that the fucking idiotic know-it-all did not even point out this glaring factual mistake I made. I said that the IRA was formed in response to the 1972 Bloody Sunday incident, when in fact the IRA was already around in the 1920s (something I found out when I was doing my Lit test, the prose passage by Frank O'Connor). That was an obvious mistake, and he didn't point it out. It really shows how bloody much this moron knows, if you want my honest opinion.

I'm sorry, but that was only Part One of my GP rant. Part the Second deals with comprehension. Paper Two. Whatfuckingever. Why do I have a bone to pick, you ask, since I got a nice A1 for it?

It's because of this ridiculous, braindead comment the stupid marker (another person, I think, 'cause the handwriting's different) made at the end of my AQ. Here's what the person wrote:

"Give clear references. A more organised answer will make it easier for the marker to find your points. Most points are taken from the passage. You need to give more of your own opinions and examples in an AQ answer."

Seriously dude, don't fucking tell me what the fuck to do. I know what I'm doing. I may hate the subject to hell but I still know what I'm doing. I know it better than 90% of the dumb dolts in my stupid school, and my results obviously prove it.

And more importantly, do not accuse me of not having an opinion of my own. My entire answer, all three pages of it (yes, three pages for an 8-mark question), came from me, and me alone. It was my own goddamn opinion. It was just so awesomely coincidental that my take on Singlish happened to be the same as the writer's. I did not refer to the passage at all (and I really mean AT ALL) when I did the stupid thing, and hence, "most of the points" did not come from the goddamn passage. Screw you for thinking, wrongly, that it did.

Honestly, since when was it such a crime to agree with the writer? Since when was it against the rules to have your own opinion coincide with the writer's? I'm sorry, was I supposed to make a black-and-white judgement and go, "Oh, Singlish is like, so totally not Singaporean, we should like, so speak proper English!" or "No lah Singlish veri good mah why cannot leh?"?

Okay, breathe, I have ran out of steam after almost an hour on this rant. A waste of time, it is, but one last thing: I really don't understand why I even bother hauling my ass to school at 7.30 a.m. on a bloody Saturday morning to do a test that would eventually be marked by idiots.

Hang me if you must, though I really don't think I could care any less, but nobody in their right mind would give an essay on terrorism 25/50, even if it did dwell too much on the Iraq War. Whoever thinks otherwise do not deserve to mark GP essays.

Anyway, my teacher told me that the guy who marked my class's essays is some new guy. That explains everything.

First day of school sucked. My contact lens, left, decided to play a trick on me today. Started hurting like hell halfway through Tubby's lesson.

(He's my Lit Paper 4 teacher, by the way.)

Hurt for the entire day, til I got home. I was crying. Well, not really, but a lot of tears were produced.

I'm just damn tired, truth be told. I found myself on the verge of not being able to tolerate school ever again in the morning when I stepped out of my mom's car and made my way to the classroom.

I'm frustrated. I have ceased to see the point. And there's still the perennial problem of the unfinished -- more like untouched, actually -- homework.

Oh, lovely. I love my life. We should get married.

Apologies (well, whatever) for the excessive swearing up there. I don't usually swear this much. Or at least, I have stopped swearing unnecessarily ever since I stopped being 14. But it could not be helped. Whenever I think my school can actually be a real school, something happens and thwarts whatever flimsy hope I've had, for example, in the form of rubbish English teachers who cannot read.

Oh fuck it. Who cares anyway.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010