By M. F. Luder
Undergrounders, or Undies for short, have researched Tosa East, and after consulting tarot cards and our vast data reservoir, we were able to divine that school is boring.

One of the most obvious clues that led our crack investigative team to conclude that school was boring was the vast amount of reading and/or writing involved. Reading is a pain, simply because it is a distraction, specifically when I'm watching Seinfeld or listening to PIG. The annoying precursor to reading, writing, is boring because I don't have anything worth saying or any coherent way of saying it. And, in order to complete their triumvirate of boredom, schools instituted arithmetic. Good lord, I don't need stories about aiming fire hoses and 4-gon conclusions; if I hear another story about how they used slide rules back in their day...

Another problem with school is that it is so goddamn long; after a day of school, my whole day is shot. I mean, how are students supposed to have time to drink, womanize, cruise the strip, play video games, listen to music and watch porno if school is eating up our day. If we didn't cut classes so often, we'd feel as if we were wasting our life away.

Now I know most of our fervent following is now clamoring, "What 'bout teachers, eh? Dey's real borin'." Well said. We didn't forget the 'teach'ers, whose misguided attempts to learn us good really puts a damper on my day. Geez, lay off will you; I didn't sign up for AP Lit & Comp to read about Dylan Thomas' "magnificent Welsh voice;" I signed up to talk with 'The Rob' about his exploits with Pertl and Triny. The only time that I find interesting is when the teacher start reminiscing about the far past or tell us about their kids; now that's information I can use in my life, specifically how not to run my life.

I'd keep telling you kiddies how boring school is, and believe me the list goes on, but this article involves writing, and hence I'm boring myself; even better, I'm writing this during class, and poetry is distracting me from writing to you, my beloved, so I will stop because you deserve better than incoherent garbage. At least I assume you do because I don't actually know you and can't accurately judge. However I'm willing to bet that maybe one or two of you have standards, so good-bye fun, hello "Fern Hill."

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