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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                        Sometimes I Wonder
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   Tonight, I've just been reading. Looking through old books, checking out
the news on the web, and just talking to people. It's pretty normal, seeing
as I love to add more information to my ever-consuming cranium. But one of
the things getting to me tonight is the F.U.C.K. Files.

   I've got a pretty good life. In fact, I^'d call it great, in general. I'm
16 years old, the only one of my friends to have a car (somewhat of a
blessing and a curse), and my family is pretty well off. I can afford to
blow my wads of cash on trivial things like Warhammer, and the new computer
I'm saving up for. Never in my life have I heard my parents raise their
voice at each other, and only occasionally at me. I have good friends who
are there for me, and I'm glad to be there to help them. Plus, I've got a
decent intellect to work with. Yeah, I have a great life.

   But when I see something like the F.U.C.K. Files, I really do feel kind of
stupid. This always happens to me. I have some sort of complex that I'll
never really understand. I look down on a lot of people. But when I have
the slightest respect for anyone, I feel rather low, like I'm not as good.
Like I'm not doing enough. Something. Fuck if I know why, but it just
happens. And when I read some of the stuff the Files have in store for me,
it really makes me wonder.

   Why is it that I have this great life? Why is it that people have to
suffer through such shit? You've all seen the examples. Nearly every single
one of these text files shows some sort of well-put human suffering. The
kind I've never known personally. Hell, the only one I've written so far
was a decent-at-best piece about the Dress Code at my school. That's the
worst thing I have to write about? When there's all this hate and violence
and stupidity everywhere? A fucking Dress Code? I don't know who or what to
be more angry at; their bad situation, my good situation, or just me for
bitching about my gift of a good life.

   As I look back on what I've written, it doesn't make too much sense. Once
more, I'm just bitching about nothing. Bitching about bitching, and about
how I can't bitch about things half as bad as others have to bitch about.
Heh. I'll never understand myself!

Lexington
lexington@antisocial.com

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