Today I was sitting in chemistry, on the back row, as you do, with a few of my friends. In front of us were a few girls, whose names shall remain masked to protect me in case they don’t like it.
On my left were a couple of my friends, and I’ll use their real names: George and Kieran. Now, we are also in the same computing class, and over the last few weeks we have had a bit of a joke going: our computing teacher was talking to us about the processes involved in the “data cycle” or something like that. (We do not pay attention to the general picture, we just listen to see if she uses any of her catchphrases like “almost in a sense”, “as such”, “if you like” and “so to speak”).
The stages of this cycle are: data collection, data preparation, data input, data processing and storage, and data output. Most of these things may seem obvious to you, except for data preparation. This is validation and verification of the data. Our teacher went on to explain that validation checks to see if the data is sensible, and possible, and include things like range checks, presence checks, type checks and checking check digits. Fair enough then.
So, what is data verification?
“Data verification is checking that the data is correct and is what is meant to have been inputted.”
Oh, and how do you do that?
“Double entry.”
LOL! I sat in my swivel seat (at the back of the class of course), and covered my mouth as I chuckled to myself. I looked over to z3rb, but he obviously had not seen the funny side of this, as our eyes did not cross. I explained the funniness to him at break time, and then he understood. After using the phrase “double entry” in almost every lesson for several weeks, I’m still not sure if our teacher is sure what it is we’re laughing. She can only reply with one of her classically confused faces, which makes her mouth look like that crease you get half way down your shoes at the bit where they bend.
It was the topic of double entry which we were discussing at Chemistry today, throwing around thoughts of its funniness, suggesting triple entry, and all of that crap. Of course, it was completely hilarious, as I am the master of comedy.
RedFace, as I shall call her, a girl from in front, did not agree. Continuously through our little discussion, we were interrupted by her, asking what we were talking about, throwing us suspicious (and weird) looks, and just generally being a bitch.
HER: “What you talking about”
US: “Nothing”
HER: “You’re just immature”
US: “Yeah, I know, laughing is just so immature, especially about sexual jokes. Sex is such a childish topic.”
Let me just point out, that at this very moment, RedFace was flicking little bits of paper at us. Immature? I think so. Apparently our retorts were not good enough to satisfy her. Well, fair enough. This calls for one thing, and one thing only: retaliation.
She’d started her whole spiel about how girls are superior to boys, how they feel emotion1, how they are just so cool and mature. We couldn’t take this.
“Hey, RedFace,” one of my friends said. “I heard some jokes about you involving; crying, a teddy bear, and Paris.”
HER: “No, don’t know what you’re talking about.”
US: “Nah, I’m pretty sure…”
This insistence and denial carried on for a few minutes, until one of the other (not-bitch) girls decided to join in the conversation.
She started: “Err, yeah RedFace, I was the one who stole your teddy bear! You did cry!”
RedFace did not like this one bit. To tell you the truth, she is so emotionally unstable and immature, that she cries probably every day, at the slightest things. This is no joke. Then, I was asked when it was that I last cried, I replied, truthfully, that I had not cried in the last few years that I can remember well (I’m still untouched by real bereavement yet, save the odd rabbit). I’m a real man, and real men don’t cry unless it involves a shop that has sold out of beer just at closing time, or a dead hard disk. We all have to be strong in such times.
I decided to take matters into my own hands, and I started to write a letter to RedFace. It went something like this (obviously it’s a rushed paraphrased job and I don’t have a clue what I am talking about):
Dear RedFace,
As the District Attorney of <my school>, I can do what I like. You, however, can not. Hence, I shall be pressing charges against you due to your abysmal behaviour, which has breached the <my school> Sensible Behaviour Act 1990. Primarily, you have been charged with gross immaturity, a class 1 capital felon.
As the defendant and accused, you have the right to counsel, and you must show up at <mycity> crown court on <random date> to stand trial.
You are accused of:
- Gross immaturity, in the first degree
- Being a bitch, in the first degree
- Tomfoolery, in the second degree
- Using bad sarcasm, in the first degree [I forgot to mention this, but she thought her sarcasm was funnier than our double entry talk. Not at all].
- Annoyingness, in the first degree.
My friend also sent a second letter which contained a few other charges:
- Littering [RedFace has bad, flaky skin]
- Illegally carrying an STD
Yours sincerely
District Attorney, W. Wilson
This, of course, is a joke (though my poor memory has probably wrecked the comic effect of this letter). Anyone can tell that. And, thanks to Tucker Max, I know that what I say will neither be slanderous or libelous, because for one, I am not mentioning names, and two, it is true!
I folded the letter and handed it to RedFace. She read it with an expressionless face. I thought she was going to cry. After reading it, she passed to her “friend” (another who is fine, RedFace is really the only bad person), who read it. Neither laughed, and RedFace took it back once the other was finished, and then she proceeded to fold it up. I honestly thought that she was going to go and take that letter, and report me and get me in trouble. Thankfully, she just ripped the letter up. I bet she was trying so hard to hold back those tears.
Anyway, she’d been owned. She continued her female supremacy arguments, and all that crap, getting increasingly desperate and wrong. At this point, I must have taken an interest in my work, because I don’t know where the conversation went from there. As the bell approached, however, the most awesome exchange of words happened.
The topic must have been about one of my friends and his lack of respect for RedFace.
RedFace: “Do you respect actors.”
George: “Yes.”
RedFace: “Ha! Well then you respect me!”
She thought she had finally won something, but I quickly stepped in to burst her bubble. I quietly pointed out that George only admitted to respecting male actors, which (I may be wrong) does not include her, as an actress. I said that she would be the first one to shout at me if I called her an actor instead of an actress. She gave me some talk about how actor is a generic term, but it was bullshit and she was wrong. If there’s one thing I hate more than feminists2, it’s hypocrites (take note, I speak here as neither a feminist nor a hypocrite).
I bet she is a pathetic actress though.
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