"Sooooooounds like the whining of somebody who can't handle that Conning Connie didn't wiiiiiiin," Wyatt sang over whatever drivel Joanne was spouting. And what the fuck was she doing, getting her nose all up in his report as it was printing? He didn't say anything or call too much outward attention to it, but it was worthy of a backwards glance and also certainly worth keeping watch on out of the corner of his eye in case she decided to do something drastic. He wouldn't put it past a crying libtard to do something a little outlandish and totally against any of their own supposed philosophy when things weren't going their way. Joanne already admitted to being a hypocrite, so why not?
Just a few more pages. She was annoying but survivable, the typical CNN binge-watching fare that got all uptight because nobody would stick a dick 'em, yet if they did end up getting some poor sap drunk enough, they could probably go and get him arrested on some phony sexual assault charges. Seems to be how girls got their kicks these days, and it baffled Wyatt how so many kids their age were going online and eating this garbage up.
"Gay again, huh?" Wyatt looked on with somewhat befuddled amusement. She'd suddenly become funny to him again. There were many things wrong with her statement, so many tattered ends to pull on but he knew how this song-and-dance went. She'd cram her fat ass into her echo chamber with all her like-minded butt buddies, and they'd go on and on about how they were right and how intolerance is wrong and how the president should have his nuts fed to him and how men are evil pigs, because all those things totally went together. Wyatt zipped his lunchbox shut, preparing himself to leave. As soon as that last page was done, he was logging his shit off and getting the fuck out before he caught something with how Joanne was breathing down his neck.
"It wasn't run by the fags and the dykes before and it never will be."
Last page. Halle-fucking-lujah.
"But you snowflakes keep telling yourselves you can get whatever fucked up Tumblr wet dream country you want. You had your turn, McAllister was a fuckup, and you're just making an ass out of yourself pretending to know what the fuck politics are while watching a bunch of fake bullshit on TV." Wyatt stood up after logging out, picking the lunchbox up and starting to move towards the printer to grab his assignment, the assignment Joanne was no-doubt judging while surely claiming to somehow be a more tolerant and better person. "What else can I say? Try again in seven years."
Like every self-righteous retard in this school, Wyatt was positive Joanne would cling to this pointless discussion and try to get the last word, as if being the last person to vomit verbal diarrhea meant you won the shit-flinging contest. He'd let her have it, too, because nothing she said held true impact to him. He'd heard it all before. He was hearing it from the whinier half of the country, claiming they were a majority but when that majority consisted of illegal immigrants, multiple voters and dead people, the claim came off as just a little more than suspect. When he looked at Joanne's fat, fish-lipped, coffee-table-forehead face he saw in her every person who was contributing to the biggest problem in a country that he loved and was proud of. And the fact that they'd never understand they were the very cancerous sore that they purported to want to remove was immensely sad to him.
But let's be real, here. It was also funny as fuck.
Desperate Times
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Less than friendly response. He'd been the one to fire the first poisoned barb, but Joanne honestly couldn't bring herself to care.
Inertia dragged him forward, inertia dragged her down.
Inertia carried her suddenly harsh, over violent tone.
"I wasn't the one who dropped slurs for no reason, Carter. I don't think you see me going around calling out, like.. whatever the fuck your people are called? Hell, how spoiled do you have to be to even dare to appropriate offense when there isn't even enough systemic oppression going around to give your side an offensive label?" Buzzwords like buzzsaws..
Loud, pointless. Joanne's arguments were tired and irrelevant, probably when she'd first thought them. She would have berated herself.
Also a waste of time.
But she argued with her teeth grit until they could almost crack. "This country is run by it's people, Carter. The people you share this country with. Whether you fucking like it or not, and I think I know which option you're going to pick. Something something 'this country was built by white t-shirt white skin white washed brains who just happened to have immigrated first and stolen the land from the actual natives first', and 'slaves and immigrants should have stayed in their place so our economy would be more efficient'. Am I right?" The rhetorical question didn't really come out as such. The question mark had been dulled by her hyper tone, her coldly furious delivery where her jaw slightly quivered even after she was done spitting. She raised her hand with a dramatic flourish. Right at the exit. Mic drop, straight up, if Wyatt wanted the last word and the last laugh he could go right fucking ahead. Joanne just so happened to be a polite and gentlemanly woman like that.
Inertia dragged him forward, inertia dragged her down.
Inertia carried her suddenly harsh, over violent tone.
"I wasn't the one who dropped slurs for no reason, Carter. I don't think you see me going around calling out, like.. whatever the fuck your people are called? Hell, how spoiled do you have to be to even dare to appropriate offense when there isn't even enough systemic oppression going around to give your side an offensive label?" Buzzwords like buzzsaws..
Loud, pointless. Joanne's arguments were tired and irrelevant, probably when she'd first thought them. She would have berated herself.
Also a waste of time.
But she argued with her teeth grit until they could almost crack. "This country is run by it's people, Carter. The people you share this country with. Whether you fucking like it or not, and I think I know which option you're going to pick. Something something 'this country was built by white t-shirt white skin white washed brains who just happened to have immigrated first and stolen the land from the actual natives first', and 'slaves and immigrants should have stayed in their place so our economy would be more efficient'. Am I right?" The rhetorical question didn't really come out as such. The question mark had been dulled by her hyper tone, her coldly furious delivery where her jaw slightly quivered even after she was done spitting. She raised her hand with a dramatic flourish. Right at the exit. Mic drop, straight up, if Wyatt wanted the last word and the last laugh he could go right fucking ahead. Joanne just so happened to be a polite and gentlemanly woman like that.
V8 Vibes:
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Oh, wow. She was mad.
It filled Wyatt with the strangest sense of joy but given some thought, he knew it was going to cause some problems for him somewhere down the line. The problem with girls -- actually the problem with Joanne in particular right this moment, wasn't that she was high-strung with a stick in her ass and an opinion. Opinions were like assholes: smelled like shit, and everybody had one. He loved opinions, even stupid ones.
No, the problem was that girls talked, so the chances of this riveting and wholly unnecessary political discoursing remaining in the computer labs to die on the floor was somewhere around the chance of him hugging every member of the anime club. And no doubt Joanne was going to find some way to make him the bad guy in this conversation. Well, okay, maybe what he did to Reuben was almost entirely to fuck with the guy, but he had been able to defend his actions well enough, in his mind, to justify it.
But Joanne, Joanne reminded Wyatt of something he'd seen on Facebook. The video depicted some special snowflake feminist-type at a protest. What etched the video into his mind was how the line of police officers who were just doing their jobs were getting screamed at and prodded, and yet they were doing everything in their power to stay still and not harm anybody. The woman pokes a cop with... maybe it was a pinwheel, a sign, Wyatt couldn't remember exactly what it was, and the officer grabs the object and takes it away. The woman falls down as if she had been struck in the face, screaming and crying in the most irritating fake bawling he'd ever heard in his life. That was Joanne. That's how he saw her, some kid inventing controversy after one too many hours watching CNN and browsing gay art blogs.
And there was just no way to fix that kind of person.
Aside from the obstruction she made in his path (those damn hips though), Wyatt could effectively pretend Joanne wasn't there as he moved by to fetch his paper. He took a moment to flip through the pages, making sure everything printed correctly. Satisfied with the results, he tucked his lunchbox under his armpit and moved the papers to his other hand. He offered a smile, even a wink just for the extra salt, as his feet were pointed for the door.
"Sorry, I guess I'll put up a trigger warning next time."
((Wyatt Carter, continued at the footbridges.))
It filled Wyatt with the strangest sense of joy but given some thought, he knew it was going to cause some problems for him somewhere down the line. The problem with girls -- actually the problem with Joanne in particular right this moment, wasn't that she was high-strung with a stick in her ass and an opinion. Opinions were like assholes: smelled like shit, and everybody had one. He loved opinions, even stupid ones.
No, the problem was that girls talked, so the chances of this riveting and wholly unnecessary political discoursing remaining in the computer labs to die on the floor was somewhere around the chance of him hugging every member of the anime club. And no doubt Joanne was going to find some way to make him the bad guy in this conversation. Well, okay, maybe what he did to Reuben was almost entirely to fuck with the guy, but he had been able to defend his actions well enough, in his mind, to justify it.
But Joanne, Joanne reminded Wyatt of something he'd seen on Facebook. The video depicted some special snowflake feminist-type at a protest. What etched the video into his mind was how the line of police officers who were just doing their jobs were getting screamed at and prodded, and yet they were doing everything in their power to stay still and not harm anybody. The woman pokes a cop with... maybe it was a pinwheel, a sign, Wyatt couldn't remember exactly what it was, and the officer grabs the object and takes it away. The woman falls down as if she had been struck in the face, screaming and crying in the most irritating fake bawling he'd ever heard in his life. That was Joanne. That's how he saw her, some kid inventing controversy after one too many hours watching CNN and browsing gay art blogs.
And there was just no way to fix that kind of person.
Aside from the obstruction she made in his path (those damn hips though), Wyatt could effectively pretend Joanne wasn't there as he moved by to fetch his paper. He took a moment to flip through the pages, making sure everything printed correctly. Satisfied with the results, he tucked his lunchbox under his armpit and moved the papers to his other hand. He offered a smile, even a wink just for the extra salt, as his feet were pointed for the door.
"Sorry, I guess I'll put up a trigger warning next time."
((Wyatt Carter, continued at the footbridges.))
Joanne had almost considered passive resistance in the form of remaining a barricade of flesh between Wyatt and the printer. Advantage of being large and in charge, mmhm! She didn't see the haters on her weight putting their 'average' sized bods to the Gandhi non-violent cause; excuse her for invoking the name of Gandhi though, problematic man was problematically sexist, hell-o.. But in the end, Joanne realized the chances of them bumping hips was a wee bit too high, being anywhere above the probability of a fat zero percent. Fuck if she'd take that chance. She oh-so-courteously removed herself from Wyatt's path. She nodded solemnly when he smiled and winked her way (EW). Kind of like how one would when contemplating a passing hearse, so, pretty damn contextually accurate.
"Much appreciated, Carter."
Of course it was all a game to him.
Her star, burnt out.
His remained blindingly, painfully bright.
Life belonged to the living, it seemed. Those with the passion to make their words count. Even if they were, very literally, the worst.
((Joanne Coleman continued in Heavy is the Head That Wears the Crown))
"Much appreciated, Carter."
Of course it was all a game to him.
Her star, burnt out.
His remained blindingly, painfully bright.
Life belonged to the living, it seemed. Those with the passion to make their words count. Even if they were, very literally, the worst.
((Joanne Coleman continued in Heavy is the Head That Wears the Crown))
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