Paper carcass on floor this morning. Foot tread over torn pages. This school is afraid of me, I've seen it's true face. The halls are extended gutters, and the gutters are filled with gum, and when the drains finally scab over, the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their cheating and douchebaggery will foam up about their waists, and the whores and freshmen will look up and shout, "Save us!" And I will look down and whisper, "No..."

They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father or Principal Watson. Decent men who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. But instead they followed the droppings of lechers and dropouts, and they didn't realize that trail led over a precipice until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. And now the whole school stands at the brink, staring over the edge into bloody hell. And all of those liberals and intellectuals and smooth talkers...suddenly nobody has anything to say...