Rage With Benefits

The Yearbook Essays: Blake and Asher

A YEAR TO REMEMBER: NORTON HIGH CLASS OF 2019

This Was Dina's Sh*tty Idea, But You're Welcome
Asher Sanders & Blake Yeun | Norton High Swim Team

"Yes, we can fucking write."

A short guide in case you're dumb or sumn — Normal text: Asher writing. Italics: Blake writing... but with Asher's minimal, next-to-no supervision.

You're probably reading this right now. You're probably not. Yeah, you're probably not. But if you are, you're probably done with all the pictures and decided to be curious. Or you're bored. And you're probably like, what the fuck are Sanders and Yeun doing writing the yearbook essay?

Right there with you, pal. But also, fuck you.

Dina Hargreeves – hey, Dina – thought it would be a good idea to get some random students to pour their share on writing this shit and picked me and Blake. Apparently, she thought we can put a little "substance" in it. At first, we thought it was crazy. We still do. So really, none of this is on us. Blame the editor-in-chief, she's the devil here. But hey, at least Emery Chernychevsky's doing the other one. Yeah, we got two essays. Why are we even doing essays, you ask? Who knows? One thousand little fuckers and no one thought of using the money for a campus gumball machine. We can honestly suggest through the kindness of our hearts that you guys make this worth your while and skip this and go read Emery's instead. He's amazing and above all, he's great at what we're attempting to do, so you might even learn a thing or two. Meanwhile, on this side of the coin, it's been two paragraphs and we still haven't gotten to the point yet. See? Remember, this is all on Dina.

First of all, yes, we're allowed to swear on the yearbook essay. We're paying for this shit so thank God for that. Second, no, we're not part of the student publication gals and pals or whatchamacallit, but we can fucking write. As you can already tell, this is the proliferation of Dina's bad ideas. I hope to God someone proofreads this.

Now to the actual deal.

I don't want to seem like I'm just here to give one-liners, so I'm starting the serious part. First of all, no one's gonna proofread this, Ash. They're putting this out there raw, so get ready to know the real, uncensored me. Yes, that sounded better in my head.

I'm Blake. You guys know me. I'm the one who broke into the school's announcement room to ask Jenny Morgenthau out to prom. She said no, by the way. No biggie. I turned out fine. It was great. Whatever. I was also the one who clogged up the men's bathrooms with whipped cream. I'm sorry Mr. Walsh, but I was tight on money and couldn't afford to deal with a cocky best friend by losing that bet. We all know Bryce. It's dangerous to let him think he can be right. Anyway, I wasn't exactly the class prince role model of this school but look at me now, writing this shit. Hah. Not the prom king, not the hockey captain, ME. Now, I'm not exactly the best, much less this idiot sitting next to me as I am typing this. He's glaring at me right now. Not much I can do about that.

What I can do right now though, is leave a legacy in this essay. And you know what I'm gonna do? I am going to tell you how much I fucking hate high school.

I hated getting up early for classes. I hated having to waste gas money just so I can learn why I have to pay so much for gas in economics class. I hate dealing with snotty little smartasses glaring at the side of my head because they don't like what I'm writing. I hated cafeteria food. They're all either soggy or burnt, and in the rare times that they actually look good, they're broccoli. I hated all the yelling. Chaos is good if you're starting it, but if you're on the receiving end of it? Good Lord above...