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mxliv-oftheendless · 5 years

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Way Down Hadestown

So brief explanation for this: my latest obsession has been the song “Way Down Hadestown” from the musical Hadestown, and one day I was listening to the song, and the sudden image of KISS singing this popped into my head. So I decided to write it out. I took some inspiration for a couple small things in here from @cosmicrealmofkissteria‘s KISSteriaverse (go read her drabbles, they’re awesome!), but everything else in here is mine.

I apologize if this is shite, but I had to get it down and I wanted to share it with y’all. If you’ve never listened to “Way Down Hadestown”, I recommend listening to it as you read the story.

So without further ado, enjoy!

Aucoin’s Tavern bustled with life. Crowds of people filled the spacious tavern, people wishing to drink their problems away or simply wishing for a good time with friends.

Seated at the bar was a man with the latter wish. He was slender man with long black hair, fair skin, and dark eyes, currently lit up with a joyful gleam as he and others at the bar laughed loudly at a joke.

“That deserves another round, I think,” he said aloud.

“Aw, c’mon, Vin, you’ve been payin’ all day!” Catman protested.

“At least let us pay for one round,” another called the Fox insisted.

The man, whose name was Vinneketh, or Vinnie to his friends, shook his head. “Nonsense. I know none of you could afford it, whereas I can.”

“Well, one of us could,” a man, Bruce, stated from where he was at a table with two men, Tommy and Eric. “But we all know he would never do it.”

All the men turned toward a man with curly black hair and white facepaint with a black star sat a table alone by a window, sipping his drink and watching the scene.

Vinnie grinned teasingly at the man. “Well, we all know how fiercely protective Starchild is over his inheritance,”

Starchild shrugged, smiling. “Guilty. But I’m simply not as ready to spend my wealth as you are, Vinnie,”

“How wealthy are you, anyway, Starchild?” Fox asked curiously.

From where he was seated beside Catman, a lanky man called Spaceman laughed. “Bad question ta ask, Foxy; Prince Starchild of KISSteria hates talkin’ about his wealth.”

Starchild rolled his eyes at Spaceman.

“Why don’t we focus on the next round, hm?” Vinnie skillfully changed the subject. He waved to the bartender. “Bill, another round, if you don’t mind!”

Catman grinned and raised his glass. “Ya spoil us, Vinnie!”

The jovial atmosphere was suddenly broken by a loud train whistle from outside.

Immediately, the entire tavern went silent. Vinnie froze, the smile slipping off his face. His dark eyes, now wide, turned to meet Starchild’s, quietly begging him to please tell him it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Starchild stood from his chair and opened the window beside his table, then stuck his head out. His star glowed faintly purple as he looked toward the set of train tracks that were outside. There, magnified in the far, far distance, was the small form of an all-black train, rumbling towards the tavern.

Starchild pursed his lips, then opened his mouth and sang, “On the road to Hell, there was a railroad track,”

The desperate look on Vinnie’s face instantly dropped away, and his eyes clouded with anger. “Oh, come on!” he groaned.

“And a train coming up from way down below,”

Vinnie raised a finger toward Starchild. “That was not six months!” he insisted.

Starchild turned to Vinnie, shrugging apologetically. “Better go get your suitcase packed. Guess it’s time to go.”

Scowling darkly and eyes blazing with anger, Vinnie nonetheless got up and stormed off.

Spaceman shook his head sadly as Vinnie exited the tavern. “Too fuckin’ bad,” he lamented.

Fox approached Starchild, who had returned to gazing out the window. “What did you see?” he questioned.

Glancing at him, Starchild jerked his head to the window. “C’mere and take a look,”

When Fox had stuck his head out, Starchild pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and threw it out the window. As Fox followed it, he saw it was blowing on the wind in the direction of small curling wisps of smoke on the horizon.

“Follow that dollar for a long way down,” sang Starchild behind him. “Far away from the poorhouse door. You either get to Hell or to Hadestown; ain’t no difference anymore. Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground.”

Fox curiously pulled his head back inside. “What’s Hadestown?”

“Used ta be run by Hades himself, so they say,” Spaceman piped up, ignoring Catman’s sour expression. “But then it was taken over in a coup and now it’s run by who the boys call Demon.”

He set down his drink. “Hound dog howl and the whistle blow,” he sang. “Train come a-rollin’, clickety-clack. Nobody knows where the old train goes. Those who go, they don’t come back.”

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!” the patrons in the tavern chorused.

Music suddenly started up, and some of the crowd moved onto a cleared space to dance to a jazzy rhythm. Those who weren’t dancing clapped their hands to the beat.

The crowd on the dance floor suddenly parted to make for the return of Vinnie, who trudged back into the tavern. He carried bags in his hands and wore a coat over his clothes. His face had changed as well; what had once been fair skin was now chalky white, with black lips and a golden ankh from his forehead to his nose. There was also a very sour expression on his face.

“Winter’s nigh, and summer’s o’er,” he sang, frustration seeping into his voice. “Hear that high and lonesome sound, of my husband comin’ for, to bring me home to Hadestown.”

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!”

Vinnie trudged over to the bar, where Starchild was waiting for him, and plunked his bags on the surface. “Down there, it’s a bunch of stiffs. Brother, I’ll be bored to death,” he lamented to Starchild. “Gonna have to import some stuff just to entertain myself.”

He snapped his fingers at Bill. “Gimme morphine in a tin. Gimme a crate of the fruit of the vine. Takes a lot of medicine to make it through the wintertime.”

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!”

Bill glanced over at Starchild, looking unsure. Starchild sighed and nodded, and Bill accordingly went off to grab what Vinnie requested.

“So I guess Hadestown is a bad place, then?” Fox asked from where he was now sitting.

All of them grinning, Bruce, Eric, and Tommy went over to Fox. “Everybody dresses in clothes so fine!” Bruce sang.

“Everybody’s pockets are weighted down!” Eric added.

“Everybody’s sippin’ ambrosia wine,” they all harmonized, “in a gold mine, in Hadestown!��

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!”

Catman scoffed. “Now that’s some bullshit and you know it,” he said to the three. He downed his drink and stood up. “Everybody hungry, everybody tired, everybody slaves by the sweat of his brow. The wage is nothin’ and the work is hard, it’s a graveyard in Hadestown!”

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!”

Bruce, Eric, and Tommy shrugged, still wearing shit-eating grins, and went over to surround Vinnie, who had uncorked a bottle of wine and was drinking straight from it. “Every little penny in the wishing well,” they sang. “Every little nickel on the drum,”

Vinnie raised his bottle, giving an unenthused smile. “On the drum!”

“All them shiny little heads and tails—where do ya think they come from?”

“They come from way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!”

The jazzy music swelled again, and the patrons in the tavern left, running outside to dance once more. It was rather ironic to see them dancing, as it was a rather somber occasion. Vinnie just continued to drink from his wine bottle, until he had finished and threw it off to the side.

“How can he drink all that?” Fox whispered in awe.

“He’s got a high alcohol tolerance,” Starchild quietly explained. “Which helps for where he’s going.”

The train whistle suddenly blew again, much louder this time, and everyone felt the ground rumble under their feet. When they looked, this time the train could be seen, without the help of Starchild’s eye, as it moved along the tracks, getting gradually bigger with every passing minute.

Catman glared at the coming train and spat on the ground. “Mr. Demon is a mean old boss,” he spat.

“With a silver whistle and a golden scale,” Vinnie agreed, still looking very annoyed with the whole thing.

“An eye for an eye!” Bruce, Eric, and Tommy shouted.

“And he weighs the cost,” Starchild cut in.

“A lie for a lie!”

“And your soul for sale!”

“Sold!” all four shouted.

“To the king on the chromium throne,” Vinnie sang morosely.

“Thrown!”

“To the bottom of a sing-sing cell!” Catman belted.

“Where the little wheel squeals and the big wheel groans,” Starchild sang out.

“And you’d better forget about your wishing well,” finished Vinnie.

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!”

The rumbling reached its loudest as the train began to slow down. Slowly, the train rolled to a stop, with a first class train car stopping right in front of the group gathered on the side of the tracks.

“On the road to Hell there was a railroad car,” said Starchild quietly. “And the car door opened and a man stepped out.”

As he said it, the car door opened, and a pair of black boots appeared on the step.

“Everybody looked and everybody saw, it was the same man they’d been singing about,”

Then the Demon himself appeared to them all.

He had huge, frightening appearance, with the black marks on his snow white face and his yellow cat-like eyes making him ever more so. His eyes scanned the crowd of people, everyone avoiding his gaze.

All but Vinnie, who stepped forward holding his bags. He looked at Demon with a look of irritation and anger. “You’re early,” he said simply.

Demon’s black mouth curled into a smile, the kind of smile only a serial killer could pull off. “I missed you,” he replied. His low voice sent cold shivers up everyone’s spines.

“Mr. Demon is a mighty king,” Tommy sang quietly.

Eric and Bruce joined in. “Must be makin’ some mighty big deals. Seems like he owns everything.”

Fox mused aloud. “Kinda makes you wonder how it feels...”

He trailed off. For one tense moment, there was silence. Then, desperate as everyone else to get Demon on his way, Starchild shouted out.

“All aboard! A-one, two, a-one two three four!”

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!” the crowd sang, as Vinnie sighed and resignedly walked toward the train. Demon’s smile widened, though now it looked more like a smirk, and disappeared back into the train car.

“Way down Hadestown, way down under the ground!”

Vinnie climbed the step, then paused. He looked over his shoulder at his friends, who simply watched sadly. Spaceman gave him a somber salute of farewell, and Fox apologetically waved goodbye.

“Way down under the ground!”

Vinnie turned back and stepped onto the train. The car door closed behind him.

The train began to move again, gaining speed until it was chugging away, nothing more than a wisp of smoke on the horizon.

“Way down under the… ground!”

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sarazanmai · 7 years

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Thoughts on the “Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure” English dub. Episode twenty three.

I need some Jojo to wash the taste of SW discouragement from my mouth

oh Bloody Stream I’m gonna miss you when I wrap the BT episodes up

Kars just sounds so monotone in a way that doesn’t feel intentional, he’s never been a stoic character so this just feels wrong

a razor made of wind, not to be confused with Razor Wind from Pokemon

I’m sorry but I am at the point where I just want Wamuu to die already, I wanna get things rolling

THE HEADBAND!

its...opera time I guess

“and look, you see the bandana?” pretty sure he can’t see anything Joseph

and I’m never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm...

KABLAMMO

“you took revenge for Caesar” yeah but he was supposed to defeat you guys anyway since that’s literally our plot

just a reminder that this whole offering blood to make death easier on the enemy thing is something none of the other Jojos would do because why the fuck would they?

I get it, its showing Joseph’s compassion as Wamuu did have a measure of respect towards him and Caesar (something no other Jojo villain would do) but its still kinda weird to me

“hm hm hm. you beat me Jojo. and as a warrior it would now appear that you stand taller than I do” well you are a severed head and he’s 6′6

and now Wamuu uses himself as ammunition for a crossbow

only in Jojo

“perhaps the reason I have lived these thousands of years was so that I could meet you at the end” golly I don’t know why people think this series is gay

“Wamuu. he was too pure in his warrior philosophy. and he became weak as a result” oh you

dat haaaaaaaiiiirrr

“this world and all in it belong to me” Primadonna girl, yeah. all I ever wanted was the world.

also I am so used to the eye catchers from SDC and DIU that I half expect these to give me Stand statistics

and that picture of Kars with his tongue out sums up why I like him, he’s so flamboyant it hurts

so this one cockney vampire chronie remembered this season is in Europe, the rest however

“as you can see they are already dead” okay Kenshiro

so all the casual reminders that Lisa Lisa is a woman always felt to me like a combination of two things: the first is they are depicting 1938 and this sort of attitude was more rampant, the second is this manga its based on was written in the 80s and as Araki himself said people back then were not used to someone like Lisa Lisa so yeah

likewise its been said, and I’ll say it again, Araki wanted to go further with Lisa Lisa but was held back from doing so. some fans have said that he wanted her to defeat Kars, I haven’t personally found a source to that, but regardless we do know for a fact that he wanted to do more and was not allowed to. in a way I’m amazed at what he was able to do with her, especially when modern shonen manga still put the protagonist’s mother on the back burner or kill her for plot purposes. so that’s why I don’t get angry at him for her being put out of commission to make room for Joseph fighting Kars, I see that as something he was forced to do

“my scarf will be more than sufficient” bow down

that “huh?” Kars does when Lisa Lisa evades his sneak attack is hilarious

remember that line from the DIU manga that didn’t make it into the anime where Josuke says his grandma got hit by a car twice in the same day and was fine?

why did they cut that line?

“Jojo. think you can. beat. me???? heh. heh. mmm.” I’ll be fair, watching this clip I can tell the awkward pacing to his sentence is a mouth flap thing and Kars closes his lips after saying “think you can” but its still funny

I’ll say this about Will Barret, as Kars his voice is too monotone for my liking but those moments where the character’s personality really shines like that one laughing scene or his chuckle in the part I just referenced still come together well. he does not have the worst voice in this dub. Stroheim does.

that fake accent just sucks

oh wow German science was able to make lights really bright

this one shot of Joseph pointing at Kars looks like the knife cat meme

“Lisa Lisa is almost dead, but not completely yet” she’s only mostly dead

there’s the leg guitar thing!

its so fucking funny

“you utter bastard” I know, he thinks that’s what passes for music these days

“Jojo doesn’t know. he doesn’t know the woman he’s trying to save is his mother” aaaaand there it is!

I mean I don’t know when Araki decided to make Lisa Lisa his mother, but I’m very happy he did since as I just said even modern shonen series don’t put the mother in a position of importance unless she’s dead and that serves as some sort of motivator to the hero

but my word vomit on this topic will come a little later, just a little

tune in next time where I have a lot of feelings about this family

#angelina reads jojo

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crowsent · 6 years

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Salt: I Have A Nephew

So I went and picked up my nephew from school, just rolled up to the parking lot and got out the mobile metal machine we humans decided to call cars, at least in English, and walked up to the front of the school to come and escort my fuckass relative. Because I am not having my piece of shit nephew go walk down the street to my vehicle and risk him getting rammed head-first into an oncoming bus or truck or whatever type of transportation the parents/guardians/whoever use to bring the tiny little flesh gremlins to and from school. Tiny little flesh gremlins, in this case, mean the children.

Just because my nephew’s attitude makes me want to go on a lovely hike up the nearest active volcano, set up an olympic-grade diving board, and go for the fucking platinum medal in a needlessly intricate swan dive into the gaping mouth of boiling lava, does not mean that I want the little shit to suffer any kind of injury. Physical or otherwise.

My nephew was sitting on a bench by the front door as he’s supposed to do, kickin his feet up and down since his shoes don’t even touch the ground yet. With how fucking microscopic my nephew is, his feet might as well be on a different fucking solar system from the ground. But he’s kicking, right, and his feet go: up, down, up, down, up, down, over and over again in this senseless rhythm. He on his phone, staring down at it but his fingers ain’t moving. Still as a fucking statue. About as dead as my cold, unbeating heart. To any poor fuck walking down the street to meet face-to-face with screaming children running round like puppies, but not adorable in any way shape or form, my nephew would have looked like any normal elementary-schooler. Just sitting down, on his phone, legs fighting an imaginary monster with how hard he was kicking.

But not me. I have had the misfortune of getting my ass saddled with the responsibility of bringing him back home from school one too many fucking times. At this point in my miserable life, I have become an expert in telling the mood of shitty infuriating nephews and mastered the art of not smacking him in the face every time he did something stupid or irritating. Which is ALL the fucking time. If there was a competition for how much and how quickly any single person can drive me to contemplating into banging my head into the nearest available hard surface: walls, floor, bench, pillar, my dick, whichever, my nephew would be the reigning champion. Bring home a fucking plaque and everything.

So I knew immediately that some shit is going down. Tumblr does not allow me to convey my emotions through the use of sound, but if I can, this specifc fucking paragraph would be accompanied either by me snapping my fingers as a show of superiority to knowing when something’s wrong with my nephew, or that sound that plays on Kill Bill when the Bride is about to fucking stab a bitch.

My fucking pace increased from a casual gait, you know, me just goin to pick up a my nephew, to a full on march of rage. I cracked my damn knuckles when I was walking too, scared some poor child, but I was fucking PREPARED to sock whoever the hell made my nephew like this. I was literally willing to start a fucking fight in the middle of an elementary school because my stupid dumbass nephew was acting like something or someone pissed on him and threw him off the side of a steep-ass precipice, just fus-ro-dah the bitch right off.

Thankfully, before I actually managed to unleash a physical manifestation of my wrath, I noticed why my nephew was all up and upset like a damn mofo. Not far from where he’s sitting, there’s this woman and her daughter. Although we were literally in a public place, able to be seen by any fucking one who decided to so much as glance our way, she was blatantly reprimanding her daughter who seemed to be at the sixth grade, just one year from entering middle school.

Mother Jackass over here was close enough to my little nephew’s spot that I can make out the details of her daughter’s face, but far enough that I can’t read the tiny letters on the side of the uniform. In other words, just the right distance that would give me and my nephew some privacy if we wanted to talk, and them their own privacy. Distance is good enough for privacy islands of our own, while still good enough to canoe the fuck over there. The kind of distance where I SHOULD NOT even hear what the fuck this ho is saying to her kid.

But nah. I fucking hear her loud and clear, as does everyone in the immediate fucking vicinity. Because this bitch ain’t even talking. Talking is a description of a level of vocal communication that is dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of her volume. As in she was fucking screaming. Loud enough that she actually might have shouted this child to death. Awaken the giants sleeping at the core of the Earth. Substitute as a broadcast signal to call in extraterrestrials from beyond the recesses of the universe deeper than the pits of hell.

People were staring at her and her daughter because she was making such a fucking scene, it’s a scene AND an arm’s race. But the winner of “Shitty Mom Award” 2017 does not give a fuck. She gives less of a fuck than I do. And I’m neck-deep in loans from the fuckbank from years of lacking any fucks to give.

From where I was standing, I see her tiny little sixth-grader daughter crying. There is a fucking pair of waterfalls from her eyes; she has nourished crops, flooded valleys, and created a second great flood. Noah ain’t got no ark this time. Humanity has gone extinct. But even if this kid is bawling her little eyes out, the mother don’t care. She continues to chastise the kid and since she’s louder than the damn eruption of the Krakatoa Volcano amplified with fucking speakers, and broadcasted to the entirety of earth. I have gone deaf. Then Shit Mom™ spouted off the verbal version of pancreatic cancer. Don’t remember it exactly, but it went something along the lines of “Your grades aren’t good enough and you’re going to grow up sad and alone and useless” and boy fucking howdy that pissed me the fuck off so damn much.

But then, some distinct part of my brain told me that for some reason, this lady’s inane bullshit fountain of misery affected my nephew so much that I can fucking detect it like a homing beacon IMMEDIATELY. So being the magnanimous aunt that I am, I pretend I actually had more than ten minutes of sleep for the day and go mosey on to him, trying to make my smile look less like I was auditioning for Jack Nicholson in the Shining and more like the nurturing bitch I was actually supposed to be. Theatre prepared me for the pretense I was playing.

Sat my ass down on the bench. Nephew keeps looking at his phone, but his legs stopped kicking. Since I was considerably taller than him (for now since I know this asscactus would shoot up like a fucking weed and be 6 feet or some shit) and I can easily see what he’s doing on his phone, imagine my fucking surprise when I find that his phone was off. Either he ran out of battery or just decided to eavesdrop on the conversation, I don’t know and I don’t care. Because the next thing I see is this slip of paper that my little nephew is sitting on. Didn’t even put it in his back or anything, just sat on it.

Naturally, I asked to look at it.

And boy fucking hell did the look on his face made me want to go hula-dance into an open flame and burn myself to death. He acted like I murdered his mother when I asked for that paper. But still, gave it to me, not much protest there. Completely slipped my mind that that day was report card distribution of mass execution and crushed dreams. And my little nephew had a 76 in some subject, can’t remember which one, and he looked ready to burst into tears.

Ain’t gonna lie, my fam is hyped up on fucking keeping grades higher than the Everest and a 76 is about the equivalent of some depressing face-to-face discussions on the future and blah fucking blah.

Then, the little lightbulb hovering over my head pinged, just shone bright like a diamond as I was slapped with this epiphany that I never seemed to realize until now.

Nephew was upset because he can hear this mother dragging her child for bad grades and ever since the bastard can speak, he’s been taught that any grade lower than a 90 is bad. And he’s afraid that I was gonna start emulating Bitch!Mom too.

And that look on his fucking face reminded me of the one singular time back in highschool when I actually seriously had a fucking plan for suicide, just had an agenda lying around, a full on battle-strategy on the best way to meet death. As in: should I get the rat poison down in the kitchen, jump off the roof, hang myself on the tree outside our house, bleed out in the bathroom, asphyxiate myself, mix some chemicals to create poison gas and lock myself in my room, starve myself to death, list goes on and on in a specific fucking notebook.

It was this tiny yellow spiral. As in tiny. Munchkin-sized piece of dead tree parts. Barely even bigger than my open palm. And in this munchkin notebook, I had fucking diagrams, lists, and methods on how to kill myself. Ideations of suicide were normal for me, stand in the shower, contemplate on how everything in life is devoid of meaning and why I really shouldn’t be prolonging my suffering anymore, but those were just ideations. Never actually had PLANS prior to that moment. And I fucking remember what happened to make me write out complicated suicide strategies that almost had me get swallowed up by the vast nothingness of death.

Back then, in those miserable days of highschool, I was a junior. 11th grade. About to go on Thanksgiving break and enjoying some lax times because NO HOMEWORK and in school lingo, that meant freedom to play games and binge-read fanfiction without the looming threat of homework lingering in the corner and eating away at my guilty conscience for procrastinating. It was also on a Friday which also happened to be report card day. So I get my report card. The bullshit standard of anything lower than a 90 is failing applied to me back then too, so my fucking horror when I see not one, not two, but three grades below a 90. For me, that spelled out as a death sentence.

Because back then, I actually genuinely believed that anything lower than those impossibly inhumane standards was a failing grade. Despite me still being a fucking shithead mcguffin back then, I actually still had some cares left to give in me. And every square inch of those cares were going into my grades. I felt fucking shit about myself, I should not be getting this, these were fuckall worthless grades. But hey, I used to not lie to my mother. Told her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so I took the death knell home, readied myself for a funeral dirge to give to myself in the wake of my passing. But my mother always preached about being loving and yada yada and there’s this tiny teety bird in my head that’s telling me “hey, maybe it won’t be so bad” and I start to think that to myself.

Even way before in the past, depression has been haunting me like a bitch. My mother didn’t know. Actually, no one did know that I was grappling with the black wolf all the time. And depression hit me hard that day with the grade bit, and I was hoping for a little bit of condolences from the one singular person who was supposed to stick with me through thick and thin, unconditional love, shit that I was told. After all, even if I did have three shitty grades, everything else was at 100s or 98s-99s. Nothing lower than a 97 aside from the three grades of death. So maybe hey, my mother could realize that I am in fact, not disregarding my education and I actually do give a damn.

I get home, show her my report card, and the first thing out of her mouth is “I’m disappointed in you.” Didn’t even ask me why I had considerably lower grades in those three classes, didn’t ask me if I was struggling or needed to stay after school for tutoring, nothing. Just “I’m disappointed in you.” Just that. Like I somehow brought mud to the family name and shot the dog, shot the neighbour’s dog, blew up the niehgbourhood and spat on my dead grandfather’s grave.

Then she proceeded to a lecture about how “this is for you” or that “you should be grateful you’re getting an education” or how I should “think about all the poor children in Africa” or that “you should stop wasting time doing nothing”. Lecture lasted an hour. Nothing but her telling me how fucking disappointed she is that I’m not getting the grades she wants me to get in THREE fucking subjects.

80 in Algebra 2

76 in Art 3

76 in AP US History

She knows full damn well I’m not good at math. She also knows full damn well that I don’t even eat lunch in school to go to lunch tutorials so I can understand what the fuck is going on with the square roots and shit I won’t ever have to use in the future.

I’m not that great of an artist and MLK season was over there. I’ve never been great at submitting art for the MLK contest my city had every damn year and my art grades always took a nosedive during that time.

The US History bolsters my GPA due to it being an advanced course and if it was a regular class, I would be having fucking 90s in it.

But nah. Disregard all that. Didn’t even acknowledge the time and effort I do put into school, an entire truckload of it. Saw the cracks in an entire road I paved by myself and focused on that instead of the fact that I paved a whole goddamn road.

Then I began plotting the great suicide of 20XX

Obviously, I didn’t go through with it, but seeing my nephew so damn terrified of my reaction to his bad grades reminded me how fucking flawed the education system is, and the result it brought upon families like a damn plague of fear and ruin.

My mother wouldn’t have reacted that way if we could have actually afforded college instead of thrusting the full weight of my education towards scholarships (student loans are the bane of existence and leech off you) and the Bitch Mom™ wouldn’t have had to yell if there wasn’t such a pressure to get into the 1% of students getting into colleges.

I also blame the fucking school I went to, and the school systems in general. My highschool was shit. At least my APUSH class was. Teacher did NOT explain shit to us. Basically just handed us a book, told us to read, and gave us quizzes EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. without ever going over the material with us. We were basically in study hall where we can’t ask the teacher to clarify fuckall to us.

Also. I should not have to know the quadratic formula, or graphing linear inequalities. My target career does not involve math, which is why it is my target career. This kind of shit does not help me in any way and frankly, if I could be emancipated from the burdens of studying for a subject that won’t have any real-world application to me whatsoever, it would have made my school life less like I was repeatedly being stabbed with burning knives in the pancreas and more like me having adequate time to care for my mental health and well being.

(Newsflash, humans need some form of relaxation to stay healthy.)

If I was learning how to balance a checkbook, or pay taxes, or where and how to vote, I would probably do a little bit better because I actually need that shit to function in the real world. Algebra fucking 2 does nothing for me.

And my fucking little nephew is going to have to live through this inane bullshit I did. He’s going to have no idea how to take care of his bills, or how to file for a tax return, but by fucking hell, when he is mandated to take that biology course, he’s going to know that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the fucking cell. On top of that, he’s going to have to sit through a lecture when he gets home.

The execution paper goes in his bag, drove him home, and sure enough, when his mother (and my mother) knew that he had a low grade, they began to fucking lecture him instead of acknowledging the rest of the grades he actually got were fucking phenomenal. Cycle begins again. Hope in the future, if he ever gets the same suicidal ideations I did, that he can also power through it. Because for fucking real, my family needs to chill.

TL;DR: My family has unrealistic expectations, my poor nephew is going to go through hell, some parents are shit, the educational system is a festering cadaver infecting the minds of everyone

#losas #salt #parenting #more like how not to be a parent

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