Finals Are So Stressfullll

By Alice Sharpe, Type A Freshman

My first high school finals are coming up and I’m totally freaking out! These tests will determine my whole life—literally. My final scores decide what grade I get in my first semester of high school, which determines my GPA, which affects what college I go to and then what job I get and how much money I make and if I can find the perfect husband. So, yes, if you ask me, finals are a HUGE deal. How else am I supposed to handle my three adopted children from Africa and adorable twins without a spouse that I met at an Ivy League university? Brad Pitts are not just falling from the sky, people.

So that I don’t slack off, I make sure to check the IC app on my phone at least five times an hour just in case a teacher posts something. Last week I made my older brother show me how to calculate my semester grade, so I know exactly what grades I need to score on these tests. Since I don’t have a free period, I make sure to re-calculate my grades every off-lab in order to prioritize classes for studying. Spanish will be the toughest: I actually have to rely on natural talent to ace my speaking final and my Quizlet is down…

But I think I can do it. I designed a study schedule over winter break to organize my studying. It took the entire two weeks to create, but it will be totally helpful when I do start studying.

Right now I am in the process of taking all of my stuff home so that I can start studying. True story: my backpack was so heavy it set off the passenger fasten seat belt alarm while I was trying to get some sleep in the backseat when my mom picked me up from school. But who needs sleep when these grades are so important? Right now my hand’s cramping up, but these totally safe 5-Hour Energy drinks are helping me pull an all-nighter to get this article in for deadline. Wish me luck!

Finals Are Lax, Bro

By Brody Macabro, Type B Senior

My last high school finals are coming up and I’m pumped. Man, I’m so ready to go to college. These tests will be a breeze. Now that I think about it, the six weeks of finals I’ve experienced here at DHS have been pretty sweet. The total time of like one school day spread over a week is nice. So, if you ask me, finals are really no big deal.

I kind of forgot my Infinite Campus password, so I have no idea how I’m doing in my classes. Spanish should be the easiest, ‘cause Profe said we only have an oral exam, and I went to the dentist last week. I can definitely pull off a C+, piece of cake. After Spanish on Wednesday, I’m jetting out of town since I have 678 free. True story: I dropped science to get 7th and 8th free and I go home and take a nap errday.

It’s been a nice first semester, you know, going home for lunch and coming back to school for practice to keep my gym waiver. Yeah, that’s right, I’ve basically got four free periods, five if you include math (which I do—first period?! It’s like the scheduling people are begging me to sleep through it).

But back to finals. I figure I’ll start studying over the weekend if I remember to take my textbooks home. I made a pretty classy schedule for the weekend, with some links to Facebook and StumbleUpon to reward my hard work organizing. I also totally recommend Sporcle.com for some prime procrastinating. It’s awesome: when my mom walks in, I just tell her I’m studying geography, and she totally buys that they still teach that in high school social studies! It’s like, psyche mom, I’m in Psych!

So is this article long enough yet? Oh crap, I think I lost the gym syllabus. That final’s gonna be challenging. Oh wait, there isn’t one. Aw yeahhh. You know what, Imma peace now. It’s time for my nap.

America is struggling. 9.2% of the labor force is unemployed, the real estate market is in shambles, and college students are struggling under hundreds of thou¬sands of dollars of debt.

Which is why, whenever you’re down in the dumps, I suggest you come stand on my front lawn and take in the gorgeous architecutre of my new $2.2 million dollar home. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.

Money, of course, does not buy happiness; it instead allows one to purchase goods and services that bring happiness. So it might not come as a surprise to you that I can afford to be really, really, hap¬py. I dare you to look at the Audi A6 parked in my driveway and not crack a smile.

Look, I can’t help that poor people are poor. Had they not slacked off in school, they might have become as successful as me. Yet, I believe that everyone person is entitled to happiness; just because I’ve naturally accumulated so much wealth doesn’t mean we can’t both appreciate it. Or at least you can appreciate it from afar. Our house has a gate, after all.

Do you want to hold my iPad 2? Oh wait, I forgot, poor people aren’t allowed to touch iPads. Here, why don’t you lean over my shoulder and watch me crush this level of Tiny Wings.

And fine swiss cheese, no less! What a treat for the both of us! I’ll brush off the mold from right there… Oh, and look at all the scraggly hairs stuck in there! Let me just pull a couple of those out and… look at this, we’re just absolutely golden! This must have been from last week when I was eating that hunk of cheese in my apartment.

Well, this delightful little nugget of deliciousness looks far too scrumptious not to be shared. Would you care to join me in consuming this delectable and unexpected treat? …What? You won’t? Well, are you absolutely certain? Hmmm… Very well, but I shan’t be putting this cheese to waste. There’s starving children in Africa, after all. Down the hatch!

Mmm… salty and slightly sour, just the way I love it. Yum! That really hit the spot. Wait, what’s that you say? There’s something
else sticking out of my beard? Well then, let me just fish around… what’s this? Oh my, you’ll never believe this! By golly, it’s a peso! And I haven’t even been to Mexico since 2007. Ha!

But like, honestly, sometimes I just feel bad for these losers ‘cause they’re clue­less. These chumps walk around talking like they just studied the Wall Street or somethin’, but they don’t know jack. Whenever dudes start busting out the whole current events thing, I’m like, “dawg, the Soviet Union beat the Confederacy. Get over it!” And they shut up after that. Especially when I flex.

So of course, peo­ple are freakin’ about Korea and nuclear bombs and stuff these days. I’m gonna make a few things clear be­fore I go max out my bench press, brah.

I know a lot about this whole Korea problem, and how the East Korea is all like “West Koreans are a bunch of chumps,” and we get all scared and stuff and have meetings in the House of Congress or whatever. Boo-hoo. But honestly, what’s there to be scared of? Have you seen that King Kong guy, the one everyone’s freakin’ out about? I was probably bigger than him as a fetus! And he always has that look on his face like he just got inter­rupted in the middle of going number two, and he’s all clenched up and wants to get back in there and fin­ish the job. Am I right or am I right, brah?

And as far as the whole dictator thing goes, if these Koreans are voting for Com­munism, you gotta let them live the way they want to. But I’m not about to let them take over our govern­ment too. So all these “red states” in Ameri­ca, listen up: we will bomb each and every one of you! Get cozy with the Koreans if you want, but when you wake up and you’re sleeping in a giant crater where your house used to be, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Brah, That’s a red scare if I ever heard one.

Aight dawg, gotta go do cardio. So Ko­reans: figure it out, and don’t make me buy a plane ticket and come over there.

I’ve known Alexander Grinch for about 8 years now. He used to be a real great kid. He and his friends would come here every weekend, just walking around the mall. I would watch them while I shined by security badge (you gotta look sharp) and I would sometimes even let them take doughnuts from the very secret security office that is conveniently located next to the bathrooms.

Around the holidays, they would sing Christmas carols for all of the shoppers and the Whoville Police would sometimes come and watch (who do those guys think they are?). Ah, those were the days. Whenever they would come to the mall, they would buy themselves huge Auntie Anne’s Pretzels. I heard that’s what gave Grinch his heart attack at age 16. He had to go into emergency heart surgery to undo all of the damage that those dang pretzels had done. The doc­tors had to shrink his heart TWICE so that Grinch could live. When he returned to the mall, he was a changed guy.

First off, he was green and furry. I am no medical professional, but that was probably my first hint that something was off about him. His friends continued to sing Christmas carols, but Grinch was noticeably absent. One day, he even came by with green eggs and ham and threw them at all of his old friends. Man, that was a pain to clean up. Where do you get green eggs, anyway?!

Ever since then, he has been a real grump. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that he stole Christmas. I saw him come into the mall last Thurs­day, looking his usual sour self. And then, I see him walk up to the Christmas display at Macy’s. And he just takes it. Puts it in his pocket and walks out. I mean, he just stole Christmas. Like it was a normal thing to do. I rode my Segway over to him as fast as I could, but he was just too sneaky. Now, if Grinch was smart, he would sell that puppy on eBay. People go crazy for those big-ticket items. For instance, I sold this North Face that I found in the lost and found for $30 last year. I can’t imagine how much he’ll get for Christmas!

(Note: I can imagine and my guess is around $83 plus shipping and handling.)

I am writing to you with a bizarre apology. I was stalking the hell out of you on Facebook yesterday when I came across an interesting photo album. It was titled, “[[**Seniors Rule!**]]”. It is true that seniors rule, and I wanted to let you know that I did indeed start looking through this album despite us not having ever spoken. Now you may ask why I am informing you of my creepiness.

In the midst of living vicariously through your photos, I did something that disgusts me. I had made it through photo #48 of 120 when my mouse had a spasm. I was just about click down on your very pretty face which would have allowed me to view your next stunning Kodak moment, when all of a sudden my pointer shifted towards the “like” button. Despite my very verbal protest, my computer seemed to have a mind of its own. I realized it too late, I had already clicked. What would normally be instant gratification, that Facebook thumbs up sign, was a shimmering reflection of my look of horror.

I immediately clicked “unlike”- not because I don’t like you, but because I did not want my creepiness to be forever ingrained in the all-too-permanent internet. While others cannot see my red hands at a time like this, I will have to live the rest of my life knowing that you received a notification informing you that I liked a picture of you and your brother posed next to your family menorah enjoying the annual Hanukah traditions. For this I am truly sorry.

Sincerely,

Your Secret-and-all-too-creepy Internet Admirer

PS Do you want to go out with me?

By George Minkowski

DEERFIELD, IL — Every year on the last day of Homecoming Spirit Week, the seniors come to school dressed in all black. “All black” seldom means “all black.” The seniors really have a variety of wardrobe options. They can wear the official senior t-shirt. They can make a shirt just between their friends (a popular option for those who like others to know they have friends). Another option is the underground t-shirt. Each individual’s choice is incredibly telling of his or her character. This year, those who chose to wear the underground t-shirt revealed they are not smart.

The shirt, which features little more than a reference to a brand of vodka and some cursive writing, has no joke on it at all. No pun, nothing subtly funny, not a drop of creativity or sign of any forethought. So why would somebody choose to pay for the shirt and wear it? Why would they don an inappropriate and potentially disrespectful garment in front of their peers and teachers in school? For the lulz, of course.

“When I heard the underground shirt was not appropriate for school, I was like, ‘I’ll take 10!’” senior Joseph Miller
told Flipside reporters. “When I saw it, I didn’t get the joke, but I don’t get a lot of things, so I wore it.” Miller was told upon his entrance to school to turn his shirt inside out.

“Seniors! Seniors!” he added, slapping his lax bros five.

Usually, the underground t-shirt is not so blatantly stupid. Initially, that did not seem to be the case this year. Via Facebook, dozens of potential t-shirt designs were pitched, several of them not being stupid. However, one individual decided his stupid idea was the least stupid, and paid several thousand dollars to have his shirt printed. As a result, the senior class was faced with a decision: to be (stupid) or not to be (stupid, give in to peer-pressure, and jeopardize one’s relationships with teachers).
200 t-shirts were printed, and as of today, 32 remain. The shirts go for only $10, a great price considering usually
being stupid is usually much more expensive. The shirts are not expected to sell out seeing that those who have waited until now to buy one of the shirts have exhibited patience and thoughtfulness, making them poor candidates to make such decisions.

It’s pretty much a guarantee that if you ask me, “Can we fix it?” I’ll respond, “Yes we can!” like an over-zealous idiot. However, when Deerfield High School came to me over the summer and asked that very ques­tion, I gave them a completely different answer. I asked, “Why?”

Everything seemed to be working fine around the school. Most of the lockers were okay, yet they wanted me to replace every one of them. Students loved to hang out at “The Blocks,” but Deerfield didn’t like how the students liked them so they had me replace them. In their place, I put in dozens of uncomfortable, deceivingly expensive, metal benches from Ikea. The only thing I’m proud about doing was mak­ing the CCRC and Library a more feng shui environment.

They had me knock down the wall between the lunch room and union be­cause they thought it would be funny. They made me use my hammer on the old cash registers in the cafeteria and ended up having to buy expensive touch screen ones that don’t work. I did not get a master’s degree in architecture and construction management from Wash U to do this.

I kept having to fix things that were not broken in the first place. I’ve no­ticed that this is the general trend at Deerfield High School. But once I thought there was nothing else to “fix,” they whipped out a whole list of things that needed “some adjustment.” Half of the things on the list were the duties of an administrator, but they were unable to get to their offices after they had me turn K-Hall into a moat.

I eliminated split lunch. In order to do this, I had to take out a lunch period and shorten lunch on some random days. It felt like a bad idea when I pitched it, but what do I know? I’m just a cartoon construction worker.

Excuse me, sir. I totally get how busy you are, with your appointments and meetings and all that fun stuff. I know I’m pretty low on the food chain compared to you, so thanks a million for setting aside some of your valuable time to listen to me. I’ll just be a minute.

I just wanted to formally thank you for running over my cousin Bernice. You’re a real sweetheart.

I mean, it’s not like Bernice was really that important to his family and friends or anything. He was a really nice guy, and he had one of the bushiest tails around, but it’s really not that big of a deal. His newborn squirrel babies and his loving squirrel wife are probably going to be just fine. I mean, at first his mom did seem pretty upset, but hey, she’s always been known to be a little overdramatic. You know how squirrels can be.

And don’t even worry about it. We all understand. You were driving through your subdivision, fussing with the GPS so it gave directions with a sexy English accent. Nice. Anyway, while your eyes were averted for that very important task, do you remember anything out of the ordinary? A little bump, maybe? Know what that was? That was Bernice.

But don’t sweat it. I’m sure he’ll understand why you were in such a hurry. I’ve been made aware that you had a burning desire to rent “You, Me And Dupree”, and you just had to drive to Blockbuster to make sure they still had a copy for you to rent.
At least Bernice’s life was sacrificed for a piece of filmmaking genius, as opposed to some critically panned Owen Wilson flick. I mean, personally, I thought it was a bad movie, but my tiny squirrel brain might not have been able to comprehend all that complex humor. So who knows, right?

Well, Bernice was my favorite cousin, and it’s kind of hard to look at baby pictures of him now that he’s a smear on the side of the road. That stuff makes me squeamish, even. We squirrels don’t consider ourselves to be violent creatures. All we really do is collect nuts, scamper from branch to branch, and occasionally star in Ice Age movies. We’re really just here to entertain you.

So, maybe once in a while, you could stop texting in your car just long enough to avoid squashing my close relatives. I know, I know, Danielle said this and John’s dating that girl. Good stuff.

If you could keep your eyes on the road just long enough to not kill us, that would be great. I know it’s a lot to ask for. And if you’re feeling extra-merciful, try giving that brake pedal a few pumps and spare us a few seconds so that we can avoid becoming bloody pancakes

Peace out, man. Keep doing good work. You’re the best ever. And oh yeah… does this taste like rabies to you?