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I'm Better Than You

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TIME TRAVEL EXISTS. I’m living proof. You have to believe me, I’m living in the wrong decade. I don’t belong in a time where a ‘boo jawn’ is a thing. Can someone tell me why twerking is so popular? Can someone tell me why John Doe is posting a ‘pic’ of weed on facebook when people in Egypt are overthrowing the government on facebook? Can someone explain why people know the name Psy before they know the name Gandhi? Someone who belongs in this decade might be able to, but I can’t so I clearly need to be sent to wherever I belong. (Please be the fifties, please be the fifties.)

I don’t understand high-low dresses. I can’t comprehend dubstep. All these pointless things are swirling around me, being tossed in my direction. Every time I turn a corner another one slithers out of the grass and says, “Hello, I’m just something that’s going to make your generation look much worse than it already does.” I mean, does anyone have a simple undrstnding of dat gramer anymr? Doesn’t anyone own a thesaurus? Why am I the only person my age who didn’t learn how to spell ‘Dinosaur’ from a Ke$ha song? WHY DOES SHE HAVE A DOLLAR SIGN IN HER NAME LIKE IT MAKES ANY TYPE OF SENSE? Whoever played this prank on the real me better take me home. Give me the remote and let me go to Pleasantville. Please. Pretty please.

I get why I was placed here. Kind of. Maybe I’m supposed to be some beacon of light for my generation. Gatsby’s green line across the bay, if you will. But why me? Why am I the house Hagrid broke into to give me the Hogwarts letter? (There’s no post on Sunday.) It must be because of my charming personality. It must be because I choose to say the full pronunciation of a word instead of verbally abbreviating a word that’s already short. That’s such a cray notion, how could I ever say a word in it’s entirety? How could I know the difference between ‘imply’ and ‘infer’? That’s totes ridic. Writing like this truly make me feel ratchet.

HEY PEERS! YOU’RE BEING MADE FUN OF. Do something about it. I beg of you. Fix yourself, please. Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey are the most talked about books of my adolescents. Can you imagine what’s going to be on the shelves when I’m an adult?! “A complete encyclopedia of Onomatopoeias!” Yes, I’m giving the benefit of the doubt by suggesting people my age know the proper spelling of ‘onomatopoeia’ or ‘encyclopedia’. For all you know you could open this hypothetical book and find haiku after haiku. (You know, those Chinese poems consisting of 17 syllables in three lines? 7,5,7?)

I’m not saying it isn’t fun being smarter than practically everyone in my age group. It’s a freaking blast. But being categorized with them isn’t. Gosh, I’m going to be so successful. (Superiority complex? What’s that?) Let me go pull out my aforementioned thesaurus.




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