My Name Is Jimmy and You Better Not Wear It Out

He just stared at me like I was stupid. That was one thing I hated. I'm not stupid, even though I act like it. I could probably teach this whole class better than that dumb fuck, and keep these kids' attentions better. They're controlled by their televisions. You just have to be interesting, as if you're one of their favorite shows, and they'll soak up information like a sponge.

"Answer the question, Jimmy."

I looked at him, more of a glare, with a raised eyebrow.

He was serious. He wanted me to answer his dumb ass question.

The capital of fucking Australia. That's what he wanted to know. Like any kid in this room would know what the capital of fucking Australia would be. They all should've been held back a grade for the idiocy they somehow managed to pull off. One of the girls in this class, when asked who Mussolini was, literally said, "Um, is he an Italian designer? Like Armani?" I swear. media today has killed about fifty thousand brain cells in each of these kids. I at least try in school.

Secretly of course. No one could see past my dumb, stoner facade to see the potential I actually had. Which I was thankful for. I didn't want anyone thinking I was some pussy genus or some shit like that.

Just to piss him off, I pretended to think about it. I was probably the only one in this damn class that didn't have to think about it. Finally opened my mouth. "Uh...Canberra, isn't it?"

"That's right, the capital of Australia is Canberra."

He talked to us as if we were five. It was aggravating. The idiot then started into a random lecture about something completely different. I yawned and rested my head on my arms. Ring, bell, ring. For the love of God, just ring already.

What seemed like hours later the class was dismissed. The school day was over. Time for the real day to start. Go home, change out of this crap uniform, and find some 'friends.' Maybe go to a party. Who knows. I just needed my fix for the day.

I felt almost like drooling as I thought about getting my fix. Sweet, sweet cocaine that would make life fun again.

Walking out into the parking lot, I watched the idiots make out on the hoods of their cars. It made me sick. They could claim they were in love, the American Idiots, but everyone knew that the guy would run head-fucking-long away from his girl if she got pregnant. Love doesn't exist. Definitely not. But lust certainly did. That's what I had with Sara. She provided the hot body and the coke, and I was the man whore lucky enough to somehow get her in my bed every night. We just slapped a label on it so that we would be for anyone else. We were in a 'relationship.' All it really was was sex. Yep. Lust ran rampant in el casa de Jimmy.

At least, that was what I used to have with Sara. She cheated on me and I just couldn't have it. Despite her many...appeals, I just couldn't be in a "relationship" with someone like that. We made a deal. We would fuck only each other, we promised, and then she went off and did a shitty ass move and fucked someone else. I broke up with her, and I didn't care.

Her coke was sure damn good though.

Icame upon ran-fucking-into the pile of junk that barely passed for my car. I threw my bag in the back and started the drive home. The neighborhoods grew shittier and shittier as I passed through them, finally pulling into my house's drive way. Our house was relatively nice compared to the others on the street, but shitty all the same. I kicked the door of my car closed and stalked up and into the house.

"Mom?"

"What d'ya want, Jimmy?"

"I might go out later."

"Do your homework first."

"I scoffed. Like that would happen.

Walking into my room, I turned on the news before flipping down onto my bed. Glancing at the screen I saw bomb threats and seriousness. The news was never fun anymore. War and recession made everything not fun. Which is why I did cocaine. Cocaine made things fun. Good thing the girls I got with--before and after Sara--usually had the coke already, so I wouldn't have to pay for it myself. If you couldn't tell from my house and shitty neighborhood, I don't come into a lot of money. Especially seeing my mom blows it off on booze or buying things for whatever guy she's with at the time. Brad, I think it was at the moment.

I got up and changed into a comfy pair of jeans and a T-shirt, wanting to look good for whatever girl I picked up at the party. Honestly, if you don't look good, they won't even look at you. It's like you're fucking invisible. But I learned my lesson years ago. Dress like a nerd, you don't get the girl, which means you don't get the coke. And we couldn't have that, now could we?

I looked up at the sound of a car door slamming. Going to the window I saw my mom driving down the street. In my car. Awesome. Looks like I'll have to walk to the gas station to meet up with everyone...

Feb 23
Don't want to be an American idiot
Don't wan a nation under the new media
AND CAN YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF HYSTERIA?
The subliminal mind fuck America
Welcome to a new kind of tension
All across the alienation
Where everything isn't meant to be o.k.
Televisionn dreams of tomorrow
We're not the ones meant to follow
For that's enough to argue
Maybe I am the faggot America
I'm not a part of a redneck agenda
Now every body DO THE PROPAGANDA!
And sing along to the age of paranoia
Don't want to be an American idiot
One nationunder controlled by thenew media
Information age of hysteria
Calling out to IDIOT AMERICA