I can’t believe I finally graduated so with that I present to you all

Collection of things I’ve heard in the hallways this semester (Semester 2, Senior Year)

I don’t have morals, I have an anxiety disorder.

What’s burning on my heart? Girl my heart is like a dumpster fire right now.

Don’t body shame the frog!

He is shaped like a trapezoid.

The best date night topic of discussion is ancient Mesopotamian currency.

Would you be willing to buy drugs from Satan in Air Force Ones?

You would not believe your eyes, if Mormons stole the fireflies

I wish I wasn’t hallucinating the empanadas

I don’t care if he’s immortal, I am going to kill Harry Styles.

Should I ask the priest to bless my Pit Vipers for me?

Would you be willing to buy drugs from Satan in Hawaiian print slides?

I don’t exactly think I get street cred for being a “baddie” in AP Language and Composition.

Maybe I should move to Brazil to sell my hair.

Frosting? On your tacos? You mean sour cream?

I look like an emo cocker spaniel.

I am going on a killing spree with my catholic best friend.

You look like an overachieving secretary.

Would you be willing to buy drugs from Satan in red converse high tops?

Peer influence—pinfluence—if you will.

The baguette arts are a forbidden one

I am a simple woman. I enjoy nothing better than green tea and carbohydrates.

Not only are they gay, they’re Alabama gay.

That’s like the smith of Canada.

Did you just call a game of Rock Paper Scissors “trial by ritual combat”?

Why are you eating happy farm owners?

Give me the rain and I will un-Mormon your fireflies

You probably expected better but jokes on you, I exist to disappoint.

Things are heating up in the biblical potato fandom.

For the last time,

The PHS Mustangs

With a valiant return to in-person learning I present to you

Collection of things I’ve heard in the hallways this semester (Semester 1, Senior Year)

YOU CANT RECYCLE A SHOE!

Is Twitter the government?

Maybe we’ll get more creative next time we have a revolution.

Putin doesn’t care! He’ll take his shirt of anywhere!

Ghandi girlbossed too close to the sun.

Let’s fight for fig rights!

Give me your bed.

I don’t think friars are allowed to have side gigs.

*mickey mouse impression* I’ll beat the toodles outta you! Hot dog!

There will be NO spanking in this classroom!

JESUS NEVER LIVED IN GREECE WHY WOULD IT BE ABOUT HIM? YOU ABSOLUTE CHICKEN NUGGET!

You enjoying that prehistoric pop tart?

Ayo wanna get some chapstick? *kissing noises*

I saw bubbles in the shape of a cross and up floated the holy duck carcass!

They don’t call me the Jackson Pollock of piano for nothing *chaotic piano sounds*

You’re driving me sane.

I don’t know if this is fat or his balls but snip snip.

I would have moss for hair if it was more voluptuous.

I am a hot librarian.

If my music taste were a spice, it’d be flour.

If you bring Freud into this argument, so help me God.

As always,

The PHS Mustangs

GUYS!!!!

I saw my neighbors bringing groceries in.

What do I do now?

I think I’ve found my soulmate.

“As we can see throughout history, civility dies and savagery rises when laws hold no power. Rules, therefore, must have power behind them: punishment for breaking them, praise for keeping them, and change for questioning them. Laws were never made to be broken, but that doesn’t mean that they should be kept; they should be questioned. This way, as a whole society, rules have power that is respected, but power also goes back to the people under the law,’ is such an incredible analysis of democracy and legislation, and quite possibly one of my favorite things that I’ve ever written, that it really is a shame that it’s from an essay for a book that I never even read.

Ok so I’m perfectly mediocre at art, like “only Bob Ross and my mom and my 17 Instagram followers think I’m good at art” kind of ok at making art, but I do genuinely enjoy making it, so my goal is to get good enough at art that I can get one piece that has absolutely no symbolism whatsoever into a modern art museum and then go on tours of that art museum and hear the curator spout some crap like, “The heavy use of the blue, black, and purple points to the inner mystery, depression, and turmoil the artist was experiencing when she made this.” And then absolutely go off on this poor lady and say, “What qualifications do you have to make that assumptions, like what if this artist was just filled with spite and boredom, and she had 10 weeks with absolutely nothing to do so she busted out those crayola watercolors from her mom’s first grade classroom and made something incredible? How do you know if she was depressed, like what if the three colors on this 7 year old watercolor palate were blue, purple, and black?” Knowing full well that that was how this stupid piece of art was created.

and then do some Undercover Boss reveal

so anyway long story short I just created one of my best pieces of art ever with destroyed watercolors from my mom’s classroom.

Collection of things I’ve heard in the hallways this semester (Semester 2, Sophomore Year)

I really didn’t expect to be posting this so early on in the year, but the rest of my semester is online, so here it is.

“Reality sure is fake at 8:15 am on a Monday.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Maybe in your reality.”

In the future I’m gonna be a hot yoga mom with a past.

Don’t get floor AIDS just eat my fries.

“Someone told me saying ‘bruh’ was a sin.”

“Bruh”

It was all going good until I burned the garlic and then the house smelled like the inside of a witch’s armpit.

Next time a boomer complains I’m just gonna pull up my phone and show it to them and then press f on my keyboard.

That’s called genocide. And it’s illegal.

If I run for dictator will you guys all vote for me?

“Hey I’ve got coronavirus let me cough on you we can die together.”

“Aww bro.”

I’m a big fan. Like the ones they have in Costco.

“I think Kennedy was the last president everyone in America liked.”

“SOMEONE LITERALLY SHOT KENNEDY IN THE HEAD.”

Your life is simply a sitcom for the rest of us to laugh at.

Bloomberg should be President just so we can make fun of his name.

I only rap caucasian-ally

AP Student (crying): “Please, I only have the mental capacity of a five year old.”

Teacher: “Same”

I inject cocaine directly into my veins so we can rein genocide upon mosquitoes.

Will someone PLEASE just come vibe with me?

I’m gonna check all of your acoustics.

No come here you dumb chicken nugget.

Man that was like a TED talk and a half.

Why does Nicholas Cage look like an old gay man?

I simply CANNOT vibe with this.

Stick a pencil in her bun, see what she does.

For a 15 year old who can’t even cook Mac and cheese, I sure do have a lot of baby fever.

Why buy coffee when you can just go into a coffee shop, steal all their creamers, drink them individually, and still feel like a piece of garbage for free.

As always,

PHS Mustangs

Hello Tumblr, after very scientific research I found out the single saddest emotion a human can feel.

I can’t quite describe it but it’s the feeling you get when you watch the stars fall out of someone’s eyes, when you notice the bounce in their step fade, when you realize how heartbroken that the other person is.

They’re talking about something they love. Maybe a favorite book, or their favorite art piece, or maybe they’re just listing off random facts about that band that you can’t understand why they like so much. And then you watch as the joy and excitement crumbles when they slowly begin to realize that nobody else is listening, that nobody else cares. The sentences in their story slow. They get quieter and quieter before suddenly they’re gone.

And you see it all happen. You see their fire and their passion and you love it. You want to foster all of the beauty in their love, but they’re told to keep it in and suck it down and that nobody cares.

You could listen to them talk for hours because you love how powerful they love, but not everyone can appreciate a blaze of passion so strong so they quell the flames.

And you watch, unable to stop the pain that they now feel.

And you feel their pain, for you too have lost the warmth of their fire, but you also feel the pain of knowing in your heart:

I could have saved their flame but I didn’t. Their beautiful fire is gone and it’s my fault.