Shabam

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INSIDER REPORT – February 7th, 2014

Nobody seems to care anymore. 
Students at the OHS are beginning the mindless transition into their fifth week of classes. A month has passed; a month of nose-grinding grade obsession for the juniors and underclassmen, and a solid 28 days of complete apathy for the seniors who are soon to graduate. Tensions remain high among younger students, but the oldest class just can’t seem to give a shit.
“I already got accepted to my safety schools, so I really don’t care what happens to my high school transcript,” says the senior class spirit, “I used to care what my professors think of me, but now that I’ve already gotten recommendations from them, I just don’t think about it anymore.”
While many younger students feel guilty about spending much of their day in a putrid state of procrastination, seniors don’t even consider that they’re procrastinating anymore. “It doesn’t really matter if I get this assignment done or not,” is the general consensus among college-bound seniors. The entire class seems to have undergone a complete transition from nervous cynicism to a barely self-aware state of not giving any fucks. Even Zut, self-appointed god and school celebrity, is on board.
“I am so done,” says the self-proclaimed deity, “I am just so done.”
While faculty claim unawareness of the phenomenon, the students themselves have tried to explain the blissful process. OHS’s highly gifted pupils have proposed the theory that seniors seem to be highly susceptible to some sort of brain disease, commonly dubbed “senioritis”. There has been no research conducted into this area, however, due to a complete lack of inertia among the students who actually feel that they have the time to design out-of-class experiments. Speaking of which, I no longer have the energy to continue this article. If you wish to avoid senioritis, please don’t even bother.

Your reliable journalist – Albert Sterling

It’s just so true though.

newsnowohs:

INSIDER REPORT – February 7th, 2014

Nobody seems to care anymore.
Students at the OHS are beginning the mindless transition into their fifth week of classes. A month has passed; a month of nose-grinding grade obsession for the juniors and underclassmen, and a solid 28 days of complete apathy for the seniors who are soon to graduate. Tensions remain high among younger students, but the oldest class just can’t seem to give a shit.
“I already got accepted to my safety schools, so I really don’t care what happens to my high school transcript,” says the senior class spirit, “I used to care what my professors think of me, but now that I’ve already gotten recommendations from them, I just don’t think about it anymore.”
While many younger students feel guilty about spending much of their day in a putrid state of procrastination, seniors don’t even consider that they’re procrastinating anymore. “It doesn’t really matter if I get this assignment done or not,” is the general consensus among college-bound seniors. The entire class seems to have undergone a complete transition from nervous cynicism to a barely self-aware state of not giving any fucks. Even Zut, self-appointed god and school celebrity, is on board.
“I am so done,” says the self-proclaimed deity, “I am just so done.”
While faculty claim unawareness of the phenomenon, the students themselves have tried to explain the blissful process. OHS’s highly gifted pupils have proposed the theory that seniors seem to be highly susceptible to some sort of brain disease, commonly dubbed “senioritis”. There has been no research conducted into this area, however, due to a complete lack of inertia among the students who actually feel that they have the time to design out-of-class experiments. Speaking of which, I no longer have the energy to continue this article. If you wish to avoid senioritis, please don’t even bother.

Your reliable journalist – Albert Sterling

It’s just so true though.


Nicole Marie - Whispered Demands
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Whispered Demands - Nicole Marie from Individualist

"I think every woman does want to be objectified. There’s a little part of you at all times that hopes to be somewhat objectified, and I think it’s healthy." - Cameron Diaz 

Pay attention to me. Worship me. Love me. 

These are the whispered demands of an insecure woman. A woman who doesn’t know her worth. A woman who believes the only way to obtain her worth is to take it. 

Sexualize me. 

This is the demand of a healthy woman. A woman who knows she has sex appeal and isn’t afraid to invite others to the party. At least, that’s what we’re led to believe—led like a blind, domesticated animal to the altar. But wait. Do we allow ourselves to be tamed, caged by bars of insecurity? Do we readily offer up a sacrifice that will leave us with nothing? Because if we’re so sure about who we are, why do we need someone to confirm what we already know? There must be some inkling of black doubt clouding our minds. Maybe we don’t burn as hot as we think we do. Maybe no one else sees what we see. 

Maybe we see what we want to see. 

See me.

Alive. I’d rather be alive than inanimate. Maintaining my freedom eclipses hot sex and a cold heart. I long for more. I don’t want to be sexualized. I don’t want to be some menu item at the drive through of conquest. The thrill may be intoxicating. The power that comes with breaking someone’s will to resist temptation may overwhelm. And maybe it’s fun for a little while. Maybe it provides that much needed boost to the self-esteem, but to have a man drool over me like a full course meal is nothing special. I want to be loved.

But what does that even mean? I look to cinema and great literature and I can’t seem to find the meaning of true love. Our fairytales pervert the definition—clouding pure water with filth. 

Romeo objectified Juliet. Their “love” story was a really a story of epic lust and Scarlet O’Hara loved no one but herself. People are confused about love. They have been since the beginning of time. Magic, sorcery, voodoo, lust. Love is none of these. And every woman wants to be loved, but somewhere along the way they were tricked. Tricked into believing that the best they can do is objectification. Tricked into believing they’ll only amount to a good time in the bedroom Still, the whispered demands grow louder. 

Adore me.

But I won’t join the desperate murmurings. Remember, I’m an individualist. If every woman wants to be objectified, then I am not every woman. This is not a hostage situation and I won’t demand my worth. I’ll own it. It’s already mine.