So, it finally happened, my ten-year reunion. Actually, it is about to happen. August 5th, 2000, to be exact. I received the "invitation" (solicitation?) a few weeks ago. The people putting it together, who just MUST have SOMETHING better to do, asked all of us to send in a "few words" about what we have "become."
I decided to put my response in the form of a poem. No, I didn't send in the $25.00, along with my snide reply. I did think about it, after finding out the whole thing takes place at the "Holiday Inn," which is a high class joint, if I ever saw one, and it's hard to turn down "Poolside Reception" at such a "classy" motel, but I think that I'll manage.
What it boils down to is this: If I ever "reunite" with the assholes I graduated with, it would be accidental, and I definitely wouldn't pay $25.00 dollars for the "opportunity" to give out the obligatory "hello." Reunions are for bragging, nothing else. I'm not very eager to hug the president of some retarded bank that denied me a loan because I hadn't spent enough money buying trivial crap. No offense to any of you 28-year-old bank presidents. I really sympathize over the fact that you have no fucking life.
Here's the poem I sent the reunion team:
Written by: Alex Sandell
July 26th, 2000
My ten-year reunion is coming
and they want me to tell them what I have become.
Iím still the same nothing, the fuck-up,
the self-righteous no one.
For $25.00, I can prove to my
fellow classmates that Iím a single man,
I wonder if divorcees get a few dollars off?
Maybe Iíll receive another $10.00 discount if I come in my Converse All-Stars
and prove that I havenít gone ďsoft.Ē
If pathetic losers could blame
it on the writing,
I could get the whole thing for free.
I would walk in as a poor man with a few-hundred poems,
and show my whole class the ďessence of me.Ē
I didnít sell-out, I kept my
set of values,
I never worked for Wal-Mart, and I discontinued my higher education.
I took pride in my ďfailure,Ē
and continue to laugh at the elitistís verbal masturbation.
So this is where Iím at,
Iíve really gone nowhere.
Iíve gotten a bit fatter,
and you can find additional ass-hair.
The dead cells on my head are
and my mind is still only slightly intact.
If you pay my price of admission,
Iíll let you shave the zits off of my back.
©2000 Alex Sandell [All Rights Reserved]. Copy this without my permission, and you'll prove that you're just another one of the freaks who sold their souls for a dollar, a fuck, or a family. Idiot.
Send me some feedback, you fucking bitch!
Back to the juicy cerebellum