Boy do I have a story for you. Get ready because this is great.
     So it was forth period study hall, and I was going around the school hanging up signs telling people to go look at the the Snobville HS Digital Gallery website. (I'm not sure why though, no one reads the newspaper, what would make anyone want to look at pictures?) I hung up a total of 11 signs. I know, I'm pretty legit. Anyways, I realize that I have a good 10 minutes left in the period and nothing to do. "Hmm," I ponder to myself, "I am quite hungry, I might as well stop by the cafeteria and grab a mere pretzel." Of course the stupid cafeteria ladies aren't at the snack place so I say, "Whatever, there is a vending machine. I'll just go to that." So I put in my dollar, and as usual it wouldn't accept it. ARG! So I flattened my dollar out for a good 5 minute and finally it accepted it. Just as I was about to get my delicious chips, they get stuck. DOUBLE ARG! I then try TWO MORE TIMES to get the snack. Nothing seems to work. Alone. Scared. Angry. And in some major need of chips, I just gave up.  I went back to my study hall in a super bad mood. And just who do I see but a bunch of clone girls in a circle talking. It was like Star Wars: Clone Wars, only much MUCH worse. AMIRIGHT?! Their conversation went like so:
Ditzy Blonde 1: 7 days until I go to the Cayman Islands! Oh my gee!!!
Ditzy Blonde 2: First class?
Ditzy Blonde 1: Are you fucking joking, of course.
(Spare puts her Ipod in anticipating a horrible conversation. The Ipod dies. Spare's health goes down.)
Ditzy Blonde 2: UGH. My stupid dad won't let us. Like we're staying in the like resort thing in Mexico and its really pretty and all but like how much money is it for like 4 people to take first class? I'm taking coach all the way to Mexico. That's gross. Like the people who take coach, like they're dirty, right? Ugh, I want to throw up just thinking about it.
Ditzy Blonde 3: That's stupid. Your dad shouldn't do that to you. Like its the way you were raised. You've always taken first class.
Ditzy Blonde 2: I know, right? The only good thing about this stupid trip is that the gym overlooks the beach in my resort.
Ditzy Blonde 1: That's good. At least you can work out while you're there. You have to look skinny for Junior Prom. What are you gonna do about food there? You're gonna get so fat.
Ditzy Blonde 2: Oh I'm just bringing some granola and yogurt and I'm gonna eat that when I get hungry.
Ditzy Blonde 1: Good Idea. I think I'll do that too.
(By this time Spare is attempting to kill herself with her plastic spoon. It is not effective.)
Ditzy Blonde 2: Oh my god, I'm gonna look so great for prom if this diet works out.
Ditzy Blonde 3: Speaking of prom, what are we gonna do about Ditzy Blonde 4? If she doesn't get a date she can't come with us to the beach afterwards.
Ditzy Blonde 1: Ugh I don't know but it's so annoying. Anyways I bought my two bikinis for after prom. They are so cute. I got them at Nordstroms.
Ditzy Blonde 2: Congratulations! The bikini is like the second most important thing about prom, next to the dress. Are you guys gonna get a tan before prom?
Ditzy Blonde 1 and 3: Duh.
Ditzy Blonde 2: Good. I think I'm going to (insert some stupid tanning salon name here).
(Spare hits her head on the desk purposely.)
(All Ditzy Blondes look over in disgust, they then look at each other and snicker.)
(Spare looks at the clock. Only 2 more minutes of this. She considers drawing pictures of Daleks eating granola and yogurt. Or fashioning a weapon out of old gum wrappers.)
Ditzy Blonde 1: As I was saying, Cayman in 7.
(Spare decides on fashioning a weapon out of gum wrappers.)
Ditzy Blonde 2: Whore I'm so jealous! I'm only going to Key West!
(Spare is about to stab herself with the home-made weapon because she is Macgyver.)
(Bell Rings)
(Spare heads to Film as Art where she is watching Annie Hall)
Spare: Thank god for Woody Allen
Ditzy Blonde 1: (Under breath) She is so weird. 
Your Weird Daughter :)
Postscript from Anne: If any of you out there think the rich shouldn't get their taxes restored to Clinton-era levels, perhaps you're right. We wouldn't want these poor Snobville girls to fly coach, now, would we?
Why do I feel like hacking up a fur ball?