It was, in a nutshell, how someone felt when, after 4 or 5 years after escaping high school, they still haven't quite gotten over the trauma. I wasn't really picked on (I was 6'3" and about 220 in 11th grade; the principal was more mad about the fact that I wouldn't play football or basketball than he was about my long hair and suspect friends), nor did I not have any friends. I guess that I engaged in a internalized Theater of Class Warfare from seventh grade until I graduated from college. Whatever the ruling class was (Preppies, Jocks, Frat Boys, Bowheads (what My Crowd called sorority chicks in the early '90's, because they all wore color-coordinated ribbons tied in a bow in their hair), I hated it and refused to play the game. Not that they seemed to miss my company, anyway. I most certainily was not Klebold and Harris (although I did wear a black trenchcoat 10 years before they made it verboten to wear to school; however, my inspiration was Ralph Macchio from Teachers and Bender from The Breakfast Club, not mass murder or Sting from WCW), but I made sure that everyone knew that I hated the caste system in school.
Anyway, nevermind my hang-ups, here's the Pumpkins...

"Who wants that honey?"
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