Dear President Barack Obama,
Like you, I’m a superhero. I’ve been watching you, and I think we both have the same superpower.
Unlike you, the problem for me is that nobody realizes this fact.
Maybe everyone should be paying closer attention to me. It’s like I know everything for instance. There’s a word for that—omni-something or other. Omni LOL! Sounds like some 70’s era station-wagon. Like you President Obama, I am also incredibly generous. If I had millions of dollars I’d definitely give away thousands of dollars of it to charitable causes. The problem is that my parents haven’t given me millions of dollars yet.
Even though I know everything, I’m still not doing that well in school because—as usual—my teachers are all stupid. Why should I memorize boring names, titles, dates, facts, figures, etc., when you can look all that stuff up on Google? And also, what good is it to know everything, when professors expect you to dance around reciting boring facts as though you were some kind of monkey dancing to the tune of a peddler’s Hurdy-Gurdy?
I would have been more successful in school if my parents had done more. There were days when dinner totally sucked. How am I supposed to do homework when I’m hungry? There were days when I went to school hungry because the cereal was all gone or the milk was all gone or the pop-tarts were all gone. What, am I supposed to cook eggs or something? Plus, my parents don’t even have a toaster! How am I supposed to toast bread without a toaster? In the oven? Please!
I was all set to be the valedictorian of my high school, you know. There I was in Idaho and everything was perfect. Then, before my tenth grade year, my parents just up and moved to Memphis, Tennessee, because of my dad’s stupid job or something. And because of that I started failing classes.
Teachers here in Memphis, Suckasee, are so stupid. OMG! If you don’t believe me just ask some of my friends. It’s like you ask a simple question and then they have to give you some kind of an hour long lecture that even if anyone could stand to listen to the whole long boring stupid thing, it would totally make no sense at all.
It’s not fair!
All my friends have cars. If my parents had gotten me a car I would have done better in school. Even though I’m a superhero, flying isn’t one of my super powers. Which also isn’t fair by the way. How am I supposed to do all the things I have to do, like get homework done, then eat breakfast, then get ready, then finally, finally—OMG!—make it out to the bus stop before the sun even comes out? It’s like the universe has it in for me. And my parents too! And my stupid school with all its stupid-stupid-stupid teachers.
Did I mention that I have to do chores? I mean, my parents, my school, and all my stupid teachers constantly dump all over me. I’m standing here, holding the entire world on my shoulders—like that Greek Pizza-Pizza guy—and they just keep dumping more and more stuff on me. I’m so sorry world! It turns out that my super power is not doing homework and chores at the speed of light! Take out the garbage. Mow the lawn. Do this do that! OMG! It sucks so totally, so completely totally much that … I’m just over it. You know what I mean? OVER IT!
I had a D in my freshman English class in Idaho. I know that’s not great, but it was passing. In Idaho a 65 is a D. Here in Memphis, Suckasee, you have to have a 70 to pass. I was passing in Idaho but in this craptastic countryass town it’s a fail. So why should I have to repeat it? Why should I bother studying, reading, and doing homework for a class I already passed? Now I’ve taken that same stupid freshman English class three times! They just don’t get it do they? Hello! I already passed!
It really breaks my heart. I could have really been somebody if it wasn’t for everybody else holding me back. Every time I started to get ahead, they pulled me back. It just goes to show that even when you’re a superhero, if they crap on you enough, your life will totally suck.
So, you’re probably wondering what my super power is? Whenever anything bad happens that seems to be my fault, I have the ability to explain whose fault it really is. My parents call this power of mine making excuses, but President Obama, you and I both know it’s called an explanation.
PS—My freshman English teacher made me write this stupid letter. I hope she’s happy…NOT!
PPS—Edited spellchecked and rewritten literally from beginning-to-end by the stupid parents of this amazingly incredibly intelligent, wise, and awesome high school-soon-to-be-a-dropout superhero.