Back when I was in high school, I had some problems. I mean, some other problems besides the ones I have today. I was very, very obsessive about grades. For my first two years, I had a 4.0, and I was a fucking nutcase about keeping that up. There was one time that my English teacher gave me, I believe, a B+ on a paper. Not for the semester, just one paper. And I was not happy. I spent all of 7th hour one day bugging the living shit out of him to give me at least the A-. He didn't raise my grade, and probably rightfully so. He probably also should have given me a beatdown, but he didn't. ETP and I used to shoot staples at him during class. I know it's not apparent from this post, but that teacher is one of the fucking coolest guys ever.

Anyway, despite how fucked up I was, I was never this fucked up. I mean, okay, I'd bitch and moan, but fucking stab someone? Dude.

"There's two sides to every story."

Umm, well, yeah. But the fact is, one person came out of this with a stab wound to the neck. It didn't get there on accident.

"She went the extra nine yards when it came to her students."

What the fuck does that even mean? Nine yards won't even get you a first. Unless if it's nine yards beyond the marker, but that's not even a very big deal unless it gets you a touchdown or at least bumps you into field goal range.