This is the Year

This is the year I am going to wear black. I have eight black t-shirts and five black turtlenecks, and three pairs of black jeans. I’ll wear my black boots every day, no matter how hot it gets.

This is the year I will move beyond Slipknot and Slayer. Death metal is for sophomores, and the electric guitar is the slavish echo of a dead century.

This is the year I will turn my friends onto Blood Axis and Coil.

This is the year I will make friends who will not betray me.

This is the year I am not going to give a shit about the jocks in their jerseys every Friday. Sports are a tool of the ruling class, a diversion invented to suppress revolution.

This is the year I am not going to be distracted by the cheerleaders’ bare legs.

This is the year I will not let any female divert my focus. Females are emotional and insecure. Females use their attractions to destroy male loyalties.

This is the year I will not drink beer, and I will not hang out with people who drink beer, and I will not go anywhere people are drinking beer.

This is the year I will drink vodka.

This is the year I will maintain a B average. Since grades are the tool of the elitist ruling classes, this will require me to appear to subvert my ideals. When my former friends protest that I am subverting my ideals, I will resist the urge to engage them in discourse, secure in the knowledge my subversion is merely a means to a greater end.

This is the year I will be allowed to drive my father’s Infiniti.

This is the year I will drive my father’s Infiniti, with all the windows down and all the lights off and Blood Axis on full blast, through the parking lot as everyone arrives for the Spring Dance. I will drink at least a fifth of vodka beforehand. I will not have a date.