Stop It!

Don’t judge a book by its cover. It is such a simple phrase that has been told to us over
and over again, but yet we forget it. Each day there are thousands of kids who walk through their
schoolhouse hallways afraid. Afraid of what is to come because they are judged and bullied,
their lives deemed worthless by society. School is supposed to be a place of safety, a place where
children go to get an education to succeed in life, a place that is supposed to support them in
their growth as human beings. Unfortunately, the world has twisted and the reflection of school
has become a negative view; a house of hell, the concentration camp, the slaughterhouse.
Society is constantly changing, but humans seem to be two steps behind when it comes to
acceptance. Every school is diverse in its own way; the key is to accept people for who they are,
not to judge their lives. They are not perfect and neither are you, stop acting like God because
you have no reason to cause everyone to be afraid of you. Humans gloat about how we are the
superior species because of all the magnificent things that are possible because of ourselves. We
gloat how we have evolved into beings of superiority but we constantly stoop down to the level
of the animals. We are territorial, marking out our distinct boundaries and when a person invades
into a set perimeter, the opponent attacks the unknowing victim. Life has become a jungle and if
you are not careful where you step, you may end up as someone’s next meal.
Being dinner of a carnivorous animal is a metaphor of high school bullying. In the
present, bullying has become much more extreme due to technology. With the use of technology,
all the sabotage is sneaky, like an animal hunting its prey. The bullies wait for the perfect
moment to strike, the moment when it will tear their victim down to nothing, the moment where
it will hurt the most. Unfortunately, the main targets of bullies have been homosexuals,
impregnated teens, and the mentally deficient. All have had to live in fear; afraid to be who they
really are because people choose to judge them instead of getting to know who they truly are.
There is a girl with red nails that you called a slut because she is pregnant at 15. No one
knows she was raped by her neighbor. No one knows that she is afraid to give up the baby out
of fear because her religion forbids murder. No one knows that she was thrown out on the street
by her parents for being impregnated. No one knows that she wanted to be doctor, but now will
spend most of her time raising a baby as a single mother. No one knows and no one bothers to
know, because it is just so much easier to laugh and spit in her face, it is easier to be part of the
problem than it is to be part of the solution.
There is a boy in the red baseball hat that you just called a retard because he is part of the
special education program. No one knows that his birth mother was addicted to cocaine while
pregnant with him, resulting in his birth defects. No one knows that he is living with his sixth
foster family, just waiting to be thrown back out on the streets. No one knows all he wants to do
is draw, to create something so spectacular that people will believe he is worth it. All of this in a
boy who has a couple issues that people are unable to tolerate. So society tosses him aside like a
broken toy; unworthy, pathetic, useless.
There is a boy with a red hoddie that you just called a faggot because he is gay. No one
knows that all he wants to do is be accepted by those around him. No one knows that his father
beats him thinking that he can beat the gay out of him. No one knows that he is afraid to live and
afraid to die. No one knows that he takes a razor blade to his wrist three times a week to cope
with the pain. No one knows his hopes and dreams because people either ignore or taunt him. No
one knows that he has written a suicide note and plans and hanging himself tonight. Society has
driven him to the point where killing himself is, what he believes, the only option. And no one
cares because he is attracted to the same sex.
All three were examples of typical teens that are bullied. None of them would speak up
out of fear. Fear of being judged by their peers, by their teachers; for being a rat, a snitch, a
coward. Humans were given two eyes to distinguish right from wrong, a voice to speak up for
those who are unable, hands to make a difference, and a mind to make up a choice. So use what
was given to you to do what is just. To stop the bullying that is plaguing America. To end
teenage suicide and self-mutilation. To stop the deep, red, blood from flowing from the veins of
your peers. To evolve form animals into actual, decent human beings. To end the fear that
paralyzes the body. To become a hero. To save a life.

Tinley Park Penitentiary

       Walking down the halls of the high school everything seems to lack color. The lockers that were once a vibrant red have faded in to a maroon, almost gray color. The walls have decayed from creamy beige to a stone gray. It seems lifeless.
       The bell rings. Students pour out of their classes. It’s spirit day and everyone is wearing different shades or orange modeling after their mascot, who wears a orange jumpsuit at all times. Although they are all different, they still have the same look on their face. Dread. They walk into their designated hallways drowning out everything their last teacher just explained and preparing for the next. This has become a routine, the minimal sentence here is three years. Officers hover around the halls, looking for someone to bust. They all get sent down to Mrs. Warden, that’s the last place you want to be. She’s the one who controls things around here. She has the power to take away the little freedom you have and elongate your sentence.

A couple of hours later, the students are released to lunch. Orange bodies line up in a lunch line awaiting to receive either over-cooked or under-cooked meals. The freedom of choosing their own lunch have been taken away too. The meals have been rationed and the variety has diminished. The students sit down on different tables, reminiscing on home cooked meals, they seem so unattainable. Someone rarely gets visits from family members bringing food.

The bell rings again and in a quick second the halls are deserted. Officers, again, are walking back and forth peering in to the classes; anyone who is seen doing something out of the ordinary is promptly sent to the Warden. Sitting in class you can often hear the sound of other students being escorted down. Their steps sound like chains rattling in the distance. Each officer is assigned a different hall. The halls are then divided into classes, or cells as the architects called them. Each one of these cells are divided by the year you are currently serving.

The students serving their first year are the worst they still don’t understand the rules and regulations. They still have hope something will change along the way, but the fourth years they know its going to be the same no matter how long you try to change the system. Most of the fourth years have witnessed failed attempts at cracking it, someone always tries. They try to change the way things are taught here. They explore the possibilities, think outside the box and try to create new pathways. This is strongly discouraged by the faulty and more importantly the Warden. Any disturbance to the way things have been set by past generations is frown upon and highly consequential leaving no room for growth and experience.

I sat in the waiting room, adjusting my purple dress with my withered hands. My frail body was, but a skeleton beneath the purple cloth. Men and women, like me, limped in and out of the office. They were wearing purple too. Nobody noticed them; purple is a ghost color compared to pink. A woman wearing pink walked into the office, things were dropped and the world was suddenly at their feet. The woman in pink has something I lack: breasts.

I used to get mad, angry, to the point of almost wearing pink during my next appointment. Then, I realized that it is not her fault people swoon. We live in a breast obsessed culture, so is the woman to blame? Or, is it us? Every time we purchase an “I love boobies,” bracelet, give money to the Susan G. Komen organization, or participate blindly in some walk in a “fight” for breast cancer. We encourage the obsession whenever we do these things. It is no longer about fighting for pink; it is about the status symbol wearing pink gets you. It is no body's fault and every body's fault. We cannot escape it; our obsession is rooted deep within us.  

She wears her sickness on the front of her chest, while mine is buried within me. When you look at me, you cannot see my double d; my double d is in my pancreas. I’ve never seen a bracelet that says, “I love pancreas.” Sure, there are organizations and walks, but they’re not publicized. I don’t see purple ribbons being sold in an effort to fight for me. But, like I said; we live in a breast obsessed culture.

My intention isn’t to downplay the seriousness of her breasts, she is still ill. But, so am I. Every week, I sit in this same seat and ponder these thoughts. The oncologist looks around the room and calls the women in pink to come first. When there are only people in purple left, he begins to call on us. As I take those dreaded steps forward, I’m reminded of something I always forget; the women in pink suffer as well. I’m reminded through the simple sight of the big breasted woman bent over a toilet.

Although we are fighting against a similar enemy, we are not entirely relateable. After five years of being worn, 81% of pink cloth is kept, while only 7% of purple cloth is kept. That is the difference.

Nobody takes these numbers into consideration while purchasing their next “volley for the cure” match ticket. Of course, “volley for the cure” is a pink fundraiser. Nobody questions it; they just receive their status symbol as “god like” for contributing to such a great cause. Don’t you think God would think about where he is putting his money? Do all of our efforts need to be pink? Is pink the most worthwhile cause?  

Susan G. Komen just cut their funding towards Planned Parenthood. Their only reason for doing so was political gain. Of course, they made up some bullshit excuse to cover it all up. Before you donate a bunch of money under the assumption that you’re helping millions of people, consider where your money would make more of a difference.

I’m not a saint. Before I was dressed in purple I thought the same way you did; I was breast obsessed. But, if you, for a second, put on some purple jeans you’ll see that there is more than what most people consider a big deal. There is always something more important out there; some different color that needs more help surviving than pink or purple.

So, if we all take our focus off of breasts, then our eyes will be opened to bigger issues we are facing. Maybe if we are able to redirect our attention to the pancreas, or lungs for instance, then we will be able to stop it, no matter what color it is.

Atrocity

“There’s always next year.”  That’s all Jerry ever hears halfway through baseball season.  Every season is the same thing, and he’s stuck trying to explain to that mule that it will never be their year.  “How can someone be so blind that they can’t realize that their team is awful?  It always has, and it always will be.  Putting the blame on something else won’t solve your problems either.  First, it’s the goat, then the black cat, and now, it’s on one of their own fans who wanted to catch a foul ball,”  he finds himself always saying to those mules.
Jerry was always willing to go out with his friends.  Sadly, some of his friends were mules, always talking about the Cubs and making fun of Jerry for being a Sox fan.  Unable to see why a team like that could even have fans, Jerry agreed to go to a game at Wrigley Field with his friends.  It wasn’t something he was used to.  Jerry was a die hard Sox fan, watching every game on TV and getting tickets whenever he could.  He loved the game of baseball and played little league back in the 60’s during the Vietnam War’s peak.  Baseball was his escape from the reality of the world.  His parents were hippies in the sense that they were anti-war extremists who found themselves protesting more than spending time with him.  Jerry never followed in his parents’ footsteps and resented their lifestyle even after they died.  He hated the sight of those hippies and became infuriated at the sound of the word.
Upon arriving at Wrigley Field, Jerry was shocked at the sheer number of supporters the team had.  As a baseball fanatic, Jerry couldn’t comprehend the logic behind being taunted by fans of a team that was consistently terrible.  Just to be annoying, Jerry showed up to Wrigley wearing a White Sox jersey.  In the ticket line, Jerry was heckled by all of the Cubs fans.  He said some unwise words to the crowd and planned to proceed to his seats.  Unfortunately for him, he bumped into a man who had been tailgating for hours and was completely drunk.  After cursing and insulting the man, Jerry soon found himself on his back and with sharp pain in the back of his head.
Before waking, however, Jerry found himself in a strange world.  He was in a petting zoo in the middle of nowhere.  After looking around, though, it soon became apparent to Jerry that he wasn’t the visitor.  Jerry had become the mule and wondered if this dream could mean anything.  He realized that he had become as stubborn as the people who mocked him.  At that point, Jerry woke up from his temporary unconsciousness.  
Jerry, with his new perception, was able to enjoy the game, but he realized something.  Earlier, when Jerry had come back with snacks, he wanted to know the score.  He asked the people around him, but they didn’t know either.  Jerry realized that the franchise had caused their fans to not care about the game.  The Cubs fans give up on their team from the start of every year because of the heartbreak that comes with being a fan.  He began to feel sorry for the fans and was able to understand why they were angered whenever he mentioned his White Sox.  This team causes so much agony to their fans every year that their very existence should be in question.
After the game, Jerry spotted a hippie protesting the War in Iraq with a sign that wished for world peace.  What normally would cause anger and resentment in Jerry made him think.  Like Cubs fans, this hippie represents false hope that everything will change, when really it won’t.  It won’t get any better because better is impossible, which is a tragedy.

Shine of Justice

The power of a uniform is astonishing. Give a man a uniform, and suddenly his morals and conscience cease to exist. Funny thing right? There have been numerous psychological studies that prove this, the most famous being the Stanford Prison Study. This is going to be the case in this story, so follow along.
At a certain police station, in a certain city of a certain town, a man was hired. He was a normal guy, easy going, popular with the masses, simple man just doing what he loved. However, these characteristics can just be a cover up can’t they? Now, it doesn’t exactly have to always be a deliberate cover up, due to the fact that no one really truly knows themselves. No one on this planet truly knows what they are capable of, or what they can become, when they are placed into different situations. This man, whom we will call Officer Landow, was no exception to this idea. In a span of a couple years, Landow would create his own demise.
Moving along, Landow was signed onto that certain police force in that certain city a few years ago. On his first day, he had to prove to the Chief that he deserved that badge. That badge, in his eyes, contained the “shine of justice”. That badge gleamed and shined, gave off an aurora of justice and honor, simply the one thing that many men before him have tried so hard to keep up and maintain. To Landow, justice and honor was the ultimate goal of humanity, the one thing that should be maintained and accomplished, no matter how that goal is accomplished. But that’s the right thing to do, right? Surely justice and honor have no true boundaries, they wouldn’t need them because its for the betterment of society correct? That badge and its shine represented his ideals, represented the righteousness of bettering society by shutting down the rebels.
Continuing where the story left off, Landow was sent out on his first day on the job, accompanied by a certain Sergeant from the station who, in the eyes of the law, was a flawless individual. He always got his man, always allowed for justice and peace to prevail. However, on the humane level, this man would be considered a monster. He had been on the police force for many years, doing what the honorable justice carriers do, keeping peace. From the outside, as mentioned before, he seemed like a strong statue of a man who truly believed in justice for all. But there was something interesting about him. His badge just wasn’t as shiny as Landlow’s was. Now, one could say that over the years the metal would fade,simply due to the wear and tear of always being worn and exposed to the elements. That has got to be the case right? Right?
In Landlow’s eyes, this was the case. He believed that the thing that he called “ the shine of justice” did not reflect the officers decisions. But, instead, represented how justice could wear down, but never consume a man of justice.

Now, once again, from an outsiders view, that so called “shine of justice” represented the officers decisions not only as a law enforcement agent, but of a man.

It’s quite funny how easily authority can be corrupted when given the chance to not have direct consequences for their actions. Now, it’s not only authority that is vulnerable to these ideas. To elaborate on this, human nature, for the most part, is centralized around oneself. Most people only do things in order for themselves to get something out of it, and more often have no care or consideration for the other individual they may be hurting. Now, back to the story.

For the next few months, Landlow observed the numerous officers he patrolled with. Landlow noticed numerous things about each person, but the one thing that always reoccured was the seemingly nonexistent care for the suspects they apprehended. The other officers always displayed slight brutality when apprehending their suspects. They would beat them when they went down, tazed them at the first sign of slight resistance, spit on them when no one was looking. Yet for some reason, Landlow wouldn't mention any of this to his senior officers. Landlow figured it was the right thing to do, yet he still felt slightly morally wrong for allowing his coworkers to beat on innocent people. However, all of this was to have a long lasting effect on Landlow.

Sometimes, the most upright people can fall victim to the powers of the unconscious. One day, when Landlow was on patrol, he was called to help settle a protest. When he arrived, the protest was peaceful, yet, the officers on scene discussed using force to intimidate the people who were making a stand. Landlow watched as protester after protester was beat down. However, this would not be it. Something in Landlow cracked that day, some humane part of him repressed.

There was a protester who looked him in the eye, just so happened to make eye contact. He mouthed the words have mercy.  Landlow reached to his belt, unfastened his holster, and watched as the man dropped to the ground, Landow’s badge reflected in the mans eye, the badge seemed duller than usual, the “shine of justice” was extinguished.

Grey

I was nine.  My brother was twelve.

I don’t always remember how old my brother was when stuff happened, but I remember this one because it was the day before he turned thirteen.

It was kind of hard for me to get outside that day.  I had to wait until he wasn’t looking.  Damian’s the best big brother anyone could have; he’s been protecting me for as long as I can remember, from the first time the bullies up the road stole my doll.

We woke up that morning, the day before his birthday, and got ready for school, like always.  Everything was normal until Mom and Dad didn’t appear.  I started preparing the porridge the way Mom had taught me, and Damian went to get them up; Dad had to go to work, Mom to start dinner.

When he came back, Damian looked worried.  “They’re not there, Kylie,” he said.

“Maybe they’re outside,” I suggested.  They sometimes went out there to watch the sunrise.  Mom really likes it.

Damian went to the front door and looked out.  When he came back, his face was grey.  “Don’t go outside,” he told me.  “We’re staying home today.”

Confused, curious, and worried, I demanded why, but Damian wouldn’t tell me.

We broke our fast with the grey slop I’d never liked but could already make perfectly.  Damian cleaned up afterwards, and in the moments he took his eyes off me, I darted to the front door and threw it open.

The road was covered in a grey blanket of ash.  So was everything else.  The houses over the road were not much more than charred plants.  Beyond that, there was nothing left.  Everything was gone.

I walked out of the house and turned around.  There were two roads beyond ours, and all the houses on those looked perfect.  The fire had been stopped here, and I knew with a sinking feeling who had done it.  My parents were the only people in town who could stop fire; it was part of their Magic.

A fire, though, that had engulfed most of the town?  That was more powerful than anything they had fought before.  Probably more powerful than anything they could handle safely.

Damian came out of the house.  “Were you going to keep me inside forever?” I demanded.

Damian shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know what to do.”

I turned around to look at the damage again.  “Mom and Dad did this,” I said.  “They stopped it here, anyway.”

Damian nodded.  “And they probably used everything to do it.”

Everything.  Magic.  Life energy. Everything.  I could feel tears brimming in my eyes, and I fought them.  Grey ash still rained from the sky, and there wasn’t anyone anywhere to be seen.

“Is everyone dead?” I asked.

Damian shook his head again.  “I don’t know, Ky, I just don’t know.”

“Should we find out?” I asked quietly.  Death was a constant part of our life in that crappy little town, from the day my twin died of lung rot two months after we were born, the when our grandpa died of the same disease the year before the fire.  It’s sad, but it’s part of life, and I know that.  Losing the whole town was too much, though.  Was there anyone left to take care of us?

“Let’s go,” Damian said.  He took my hand and led me to our neighbor’s house.  The man who lived there was nice, and I liked his lady friend, too.  No one answered our knock.

It was the same at the next two houses we tried, both previously inhabited only by adults.

I turned around and stared at the mess of ashes, the blanket of grey.  “They’re all in there, aren’t they?” I murmured.  I didn’t wait for Damian’s nod to sit down.

I felt tears coming again, and this time I let them fall.

“Ky, hey, Ky,” Damian said after a moment, nudging me in the arm.  “Look, someone’s coming.”

I looked up.  There were four people walking up the road, people I didn’t recognize.  I’ll never forget them, what they did, for as long as I live.

None of them were adults.  That was easy enough to tell by their silhouettes.  When they got closer, and I could make out details, I saw that two were girls and two were boys.  The older girl and the younger boy both had silver-grey auras.  They were Magic-users.  The older girl, who was leading the group, was very pretty, despite the look of fury on her face.  The older boy kept his hand on her shoulder until they were right in front of us.

“Did you see what happened?” the older boy asked.

Damian and I shook our heads.

“Is there anyone else left?” the older girl asked.

“We don’t know,” Damian said quietly.

The girl looked around, sadness mixing with the fury in her ice-blue eyes.  “I’m Elle,” she said.  “I’m sorry for what happened here.  It may not be much, but we’ll do everything we can to help.”

Last Kiss

Last Kiss

        “I’m having a party tonight at my house!” read the text I received from my best friend.  I had forgotten her parents were going to Las Vegas this weekend, and my friend wanted to be a show-off by throwing a party.  I am not a drinker, nor do I ever plan on being one.  My boyfriend and I were debating whether or not to go, but I knew we would have to or Lexi, my friend, would never forgive me.  Lexi and I are only fourteen, but my boyfriend Kyle is sixteen.  “I’ll drive,” he said, “so we can leave if the party gets out of hand.”  It was only two o’clock, and we were laying in my cozy basement talking about anything and everything.  We were listening to Last Kiss by Pearl Jam, his favorite band.  The day rushed by as it always seemed to do when I was with him. Before we knew it, we were picking up some of our other friends, and heading off for the worst night of our lives.
        Dan, the biggest show-off at our school, was already tipsy when we walked through Lexi’s extravagant double doors into her lavishly decorated house.  I began to feel remorse for being there.  I kept imagining her neighbors calling her mom and telling her about Lexi having almost every underclassman at her house.  She would be mad, Lexi would be grounded, and I would be without my best friend for a long time.  I told Lexi about my fears and she brushed them off by saying, “Shut up Michelle, just have fun!” She was engaged in conversation with the boy she has a crush on, showing off the outfit she bought for her party.  More and more people kept inundating through the door.  Lexi didn’t mind though, because little miss popular got “cooler” as each person stepped into the chaos.  Everybody was getting drunk now, and with that, everybody was getting louder.  Kyle began to take part in the drinking games everybody was playing.  When Last Kiss came on at the party, he began screaming the lyrics.  He was drunk.  I couldn’t be mad though right?  Everybody else was drinking; It was the cool thing to do.
        Everybody was having a good time - everybody but me.  Kyle was being a show off, sharing his stories about all of the fun times he’s had while being under the influence.  People were everywhere:  in her basement, in her kitchen, in her garage, in her backyard.  I didn’t want to be in any of these places, so I called my sister.  She agreed to picking me up soon, and I set off to find Kyle.  “My sister is coming to get us soon,” I told him.  He laughed, telling me it was still too early to leave.  “I’m just starting to have fun.  Besides, my cars here.”  I tried to convince him that we could pick it up tomorrow, but guess who wouldn’t leave?  When my sister arrived, I went to say my goodbyes.  I told Lexi I was sorry for leaving early, and lied about having a good time.  I attempted to persuade Kyle to leave with me one more time.  He refused, so I said goodbye.  That was our last kiss.
        The next morning, I woke up to a call from Kyle’s mom.  She explained to me that on Kyle’s way home, he had gotten into a car accident.  Three other kids were in the car, and only one of them survived.  Kyle and the two others died.  The police calculated that he was going over one hundred miles per hour.  Why? I’m not sure.  He was probably being a show-off;  His parents just recently bought him a GT Mustang for Christmas.  I felt my heart break right then and there.  Why didn’t I force him to leave with me?  How could I let him drive home?  Why didn’t I stay with him?  I knew I couldn’t change what I did.  I was disgusted.
Shortly after my conversation with Kyle’s mom ended, Lexi called me.  I couldn’t understand what she was saying.  Seriously, she was balling her eyes out.  I started crying, too, because I kept thinking about Kyle.  I finally made out what she was trying to say.  Another girl drove home drunk and was pulled over by a police officer.  She told him where she drank at, and Lexi’s party got busted.  Neither of us continued to talk.  We sat on the phone for another ten minutes crying.
I felt bad for her, and she felt bad for me.  Our night had ended in a complete disaster.  I knew from the beginning that she should have never had that party.  

I don’t think a ticket is something she is going to want to show off.

Generation Swine

Generation Swine

            Sex, drugs, alcohol, material possessions, and a false image of life with limited responsibility… these are all representations of our generation – generation swine – where the media portrays life as one big careless party. Work is shown as the least bit of anybody’s worries.  GTL is a way of life. Clubbing is an everyday hobby.  Education is left in the dust when it comes to communication amongst friends; texting and online conversations especially. “Lol,” “idk,” and “omg,” are all common expressions used on a daily basis by not only teens, but everybody who uses technology.  Would somebody like Curt Cobain, who was a popular musician that passed away in the 90s, have any idea what the meaning of those everyday terms could possibly be?  The new technology that has come out over the past few years has made people extremely lazy to the point where words aren’t fully spelled out anymore.  What is the world coming to?

            An average teenager wakes up, attends school, and drags themselves through the day with busy work and useless assignments (while texting in a sneaky manner and jamming out with their IPod hidden somewhere, which in most cases, is very obvious).  Later in the day, they may text a friend to hang out after school.  What do they do?  Go to one of their houses and grab a big bowl of Doritos, plopping on the couch in front of a flat screen television.  They don’t turn on the news, or Oprah, or even Nickelodeon.  Those shows aren’t interesting anymore.  They turn on MTV.  What time is it?  GTL.  The Jersey Shore is on the television screens of millions of Americans every Thursday night.  The crew’s profanity, lack of clothing, and pure sloppiness is quite familiar to generation swine.  The way Snookie and Pauly D act is acceptable nowadays.  This show, like many others, is entertaining to the American people.  It is preferred over worldwide current events and important news updates.  Innocent game shows aren’t “cool” enough to watch as well.

            Generation swine consists of teenagers who simply just don’t care. School is boring as well as going out doors.  Grades don’t matter.  People turn in papers for school with numerous spelling and grammatical errors because of the way they communicate on a regular basis.  The internet and the social networks it has create a whole new issue of problems.  People talk and meet online before even seeing each other in person.  Fighting and arguing and bullying also occur virtually.  Obesity rates continue to rise as technology increases.  Exercise is doing too much physical labor.  GTL for life, though.

             The people of our generation are like pigs; filthy with a lack of self-respect and hygiene.  STD rates are off the charts.  Partying is the main highlight to an average teenager’s life, and the way the media exposes such festivities to America demonstrates that this lifestyle is fairly acceptable.   Sex, drugs, and alcohol are common activities done during leisure time.  Without these elements, living life isn’t truly enjoyable.  Where did America go wrong? The fall from innocence grows as new generations emerge.  Technology makes stuff easier, but is it completely an advantage?  It can go either way.  It produces more troubles, yet it benefits us.  As it progresses, so will health problems for lethargic people.  Yet, it could promote cures to health problems too.  Generation swine may very well be an oxymoron. It could create a path of future generations becoming atrocities, or it could teach the people of the future how to become responsible and be an example of what not to do in life.  GTL could very well become a laughing manner over time.

Vonnegut

What Vonnegut book did he burn in The Girl w/ the Dragon Tattoo?

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My 5th hour class who hides in the fog to avoid the cloud.