After an extended showing of yet another tantalizing episode of Bulldawg Broadcast the time remaining was under a half hour. For a fifty question test that would normally be a good chunk of time, but not for a test such as this. This one was different. You could feel it in the air. The intense feeling of failure. Oh yes, it is such a familiar feeling, yet I still wondered why I could just pass of my impediment with just a shrug. It was as if I didn't care...wait, no -- in fact,  I didn't care. So as my tormenter passed out the scantrons with the Broadcast still airing, I swiftly wrote my name down. Though I was tempted to switch my name with one of the "Smithers" that surrounded me, I resisted and wrote the name that ultimately spelled disappointment.

 

So, with the remaining 25 minutes left of hell, we all went to work. We set off on a journey that, little did we know, would lead us to our impending doom. Though I can't speak for the entire class as a whole, I can speak for myself and my group of socialist anarchists. This journey may as well have been the Donner expedition. It would end up the same way--just, we probably wouldn't eat eachother. Although, when times get rough, and you are stuck in a test that will definitely make your grade drop....hey, I encourage you to nibble your neighbor. The teacher may label you as insane and you can get out of the agony and move on with your life.

 

The questions were just as exasperating as the first fifty I took three weeks ago. But this time, I had studied. So why was I as confused as before? Maybe I was distracted by the major hotness on the other side of the room. Or perhaps I was just nervous because my fire-breathing teacher sat beside me doing only god knows what with his pencil. Fantasizing about his after school rendezvous with the members of his elite organization, no doubt. But that's all besides the point...

 

I wasn't distracted; I can't always blame my impotent failure on the distracto-fest going on in my overactive brain. And that was in no reference to sex--that's the class virgin's job.

 

And before I knew it, our teacher announced that only seven minutes remained. I scurried down that stupid scantron and attempted to fill in the bubbles that lay blank. I tried fruitlessly to read the actual questions and answer with competence, but that was pointless. I may as well have just done what my friend did and randomly answer the lingering questions and form a nice, pornographical scene with the dots.

 

The bell finally rang. Those tortured tones simply indicated that my time had come to an end and I had failed yet another exam. So, with two horrible examination grades, one mediocre essay grade, and only two sentences said in those doomed round tables, I had to finally face the fact that this challenge may not be as easily met as I had orginally hoped. So, now my question is do I end this editorial with a brief sign of hope? Perhaps a mere mention that things will be all right? A miniscule of reassurance that we have nothing to fear? Naw...I'll just leave you with that grotesque visual of nibbling your neighbor and that hunk of hotness on the other side of the room. Put those two things together, and just imagine the possibilities...