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the vice guide to surviving junior high

Discussion in 'Channel Zero' started by DMX, Mar 8, 2003.

  1. DMX

    DMX Guest

    Adidas is cool. It’s always cool, but make sure you know that it stands for “All Day I Dream About Sex.” If you say “sports” it means you are a gay. It’s even cooler if you know the backwards definition: “Sex All Day In Dad’s Apartment.”

    Become friends with someone older than you, like an 8th grader (or, as Canadians say, “a grade 8”). Even if they are boring and stupid, they can protect you and people in your grade will think you are cooler. These older kids will also get their driver’s licenses before you so eventually you will be able to use them for rides, but that’s more of a 9th grader thing.

    Carry your book bag on one shoulder, unless you don’t have a book bag and you want to hold your books, which is also cool and a better option for girls. Don’t say “knapsack.” When a teacher calls it a “knapsack,” make sure you laugh in her face so hard she feels stupid and old.

    Do not buy lunch, bring your own. If you eat food from the cafeteria, you are a loser. If you carry your lunch on a tray, you are a loser. Small brown paper bags only.

    Everyone knows that if you get into a fight, you do not cry. Crying is the kiss of death. Sure, if you do start crying, maybe the person will stop beating you up, but they will also be disgusted. Sometimes girls “feel bad” when people cry, but don’t let this fool you. The kid who cries is destined to be the kid who is forever ignored, and eventually someone will start a rumor about how he has Hershey squirts. Suck it up, fight back, do whatever it takes — just DO NOT CRY. It just makes things uncomfortable and awkward for everyone.

    Friendship bracelets. If you have a friendship bracelet, it means you are down for life. They can be made with lanyard, in any stitch really: Chinese staircase, box, etc. Friendship pins are also cool; you put some beads on a safety pin and attach it to the laces of your Keds. The colors represent your crew, kind of like the Bloods or the Crips.

    Another good F is Following. Being a follower is not cool because it’s a form of copying, but almost everyone is a follower so it’s okay. You don’t have to admit it because in junior high telling the truth is not yet mandatory.

    God hates you and everyone else in sixth grade. That’s why it sucks so bad.

    Handjobs are okay, but if you give blowjobs, you are a total slut. Jessica Martin, who was in 6th grade when I was in 8th, became known as the “blow fairy” because she gave Kris Carter a blowjob — just one! It’s the line between being a prude and being a slut. Stick with the handjob. Trust me. They can be given under blankets, behind the parking lot of the school (by the woods), or even in the back of a classroom if you’re really bad-ass.

    Ignoring people is the best way to drive them crazy. If you get into a fight with someone, just ignore them and eventually they’ll crack. It’s the best tactic, especially for girls. The worst is when you’re walking down the hall and you smile at Kim but she doesn’t even look back. All you can do is yell, “Whatever!”

    Jocking. It’s not cool to jock someone. Get off their jock. Stop writing Toby’s name on your binder because he doesn’t like you. Maybe if you didn’t jock him so hard, he would. Guys like it when you hate them.

    Kelly Leak, center field. Played by Jackie Earle Haley, he was more than just the coolest guy in The Bad News Bears. He defined the word cool. To this day, if you are like him, you will rule the school.

    Leaving your old best friend and finding a new one. This is a rite of passage, and it hurts, but you have to do it. Garbage Pail Kids don’t stay cool forever, and just because he lives around the block is no reason to forgive him for still collecting them. It’s time to get over him (bye, Craig). Things will be sore for a bit but eventually you’ll grow up, and that kid will probably become the next David Lee Roth, but whatever.



    Making friends with the new kid is suicide (unless the new kid is really good-looking, which I highly doubt). It’s okay to be nice to the new kid, but even then you’re pushing it. The new kid pays his/her dues for at least two years. It’s best not to torture the new kid too much because in high school they may turn out to be really hot and then you lose. One classic “new kid” prank is telling them that every Friday is “backwards” day, and that everyone wears their clothes backwards. Wait until Friday and if the kid is wearing his jeans on backwards (“Everybody does it,” you say), then you have permission to scar him for life with mental anguish.

    Nicknames. If you have one, it’s really cool. Even if it’s something really bad, like “Douche.”

    Another good N is NOT! It’s an excellent way to psyche someone out. E.g., “Wanna make out … not!”

    Or New Shorts, a guy’s game. You pull your balls out of one leg of your shorts and you go up to a girl and say, “Hey, you like my new shorts?” Another way to get people to look at your nuts is to give them a high five and then put your hands near your crotch so when they reciprocate they’re forced to see your sack sitting there. Or you can just pull your bag skin out of your fly and scrunch it against your pants and be like, “Hey Dale, I got some gum on my pants,” and act like you’re trying to get it off. There’s tons.

    See “N” for “nerds” here.

    “Ooh, face!” aka “Diss!” It’s weird because, although these are all “fuck you”s they are still kind of reverent. Like when The Sex Pistols were on the radio and they got dissed hard (but good) and Sid Vicious laughed and was like, “Ooooh, not fair, mate.”

    “Psych!” You put your hand out to slap someone five and then you pull back at the last second and say “psych!” If you do it successfully, you win.

    Quit band. It won’t do anything for you once you get to high school (unless you play drums) and it’s really hard. What are you going to do with a clarinet besides become a big fag? Get a guitar and learn “Smoke on the Water.”

    Rubber room (aka special class) is not so bad. They put all the delinquents in the rubber room, so it’s usually a source of constant entertainment. I was in the math rubber room and it was the highlight of my junior high education. Robbie Pasternak used to throw chairs at the teacher and out the window. In fact, I think he even tried to throw Desiree Soper out the window, too. The teachers are just as dumb as the students, if not dumber. I was allowed to grade my own tests and every other Friday was “cooking day.” Hellooooo?

    Staring problems. Do you have a staring problem? [When you’re an adult, a staring problem is just flirting, and it’s not called “staring,” it’s called “giving the TV (Twat Vibe) eye.”] In junior high, asking someone if they have a staring problem is like, “Ooh, face!” Don’t tell them to “take a picture” — that is corny and old like the movie Mask. Just ask it all serious as if you were going to say, “Do you have a pencil?” or something sincere. It totally fucks them up.



    Tits. If they’re too big, people will make fun of you. If they’re too small, people will harass you until they get bigger. And sometimes they don’t, and this might scar you for life. It’s cool when boys snap your bra. It means they like you; only you have to pretend to hate it.

    Umbros are the preferred shorts of seventh graders. Even if you don’t play soccer, it’s cool to look like you do. Make sure you wear them real, real low, too.

    Vans are pretty cool to wear if you’re a boy. If you’re a girl, I’d wear Keds. The high-tops don’t age well (they turn into pancakes), so get low-cuts. Slip- ons are the best.

    When someone pulls down your pants, aka “getting pantsed,” act as if you don’t really care. Laugh or say, “Ha ha, very funny,” and pretend it never happened. Of course, it did happen. It was a classic move on Steve-o’s part, and you feel really stupid. You should. Next time don’t wear sweatpants, doofus.
    P.S. Make sure you get the person back.

    X.Y.Z. means “X-amine Your Zipper,” and if you don’t know this than you are going to grow up to be a pedophile.

    You think you’re hot shit but you’re really cold diarrhea. Diss!


    Z-28. Getting dropped off (kind of late so you have to hurry) in a Z-28 is basically like King Kong carrying you to your second-floor homeroom and letting you crawl in through the window. Make sure when anyone makes a comment about it you roll your eyes and say, “I know. My brother is SOOO tacky.”

    LESLEYARFIN






    umbros fucking rule
     
  2. Grant_Wood

    Grant_Wood Banned

    Joined: Mar 4, 2003 Messages: 589 Likes Received: 0
  3. Grant_Wood

    Grant_Wood Banned

    Joined: Mar 4, 2003 Messages: 589 Likes Received: 0
    http://www.novicore.com/2003_02/18_01/pics/pp19.jpg'>


    are those considered small tits?
     
  4. i might as well add this really good article that i found on viceland.com as well...


    Hey, which celebrities did Mick Jagger network, flirt with, fuck, or try to meet to get where he is today?
    None.

    Jagger comes from a time when narcissism, exhibitionism and — oh, yes — hard work and creativity were still the only tools of the trade. The idea of “meeting the right people,” expending some of your creative energy to set up a mini-self-promotion agency, wasn’t on the front burner. Drive and talent did most of it. Can you believe it? He actually thought his talent would carry him through. Mick and his ilk were the last to subscribe to the old myth of the creative genius. It seems incredible today, but it was once considered beneath an artist to do his own marketing. The cranking out of flyers and invitations, the false patter of cocktail schmoozing, the gossipy jangle of telephones, or a mind for business were all considered alien to the artist’s creativity. Somebody else took care of that shit.

    Compare Mick to my downstairs neighbor Adam Andrews. Adam is a 20-year-old musician and artist who came east from Portland to make it in New York. For him each day is a trade-off between developing his very original musical style and finding ways to get it noticed. He takes it for granted that nobody will ever know his name unless he sticks it in their face. So he’s copped a free, hip, noticeable haircut from his friend in beauty school, learned to crash parties, compiled a massive mailing list on his computer, produced his own CD with ripped-off cover art, and sucked up to the very people he once read about in seventh grade in Interview but now detests.

    All this self-promotion is taking the bite out of Adam’s creativity. Before he came to New York, he was knocking out a song a week. Now he’s been pushing the same demo for over a year. But because of people like him, artists who are spending more time on their work will never get noticed. There’s just too much aggressive marketing competition.

    Who do the fledgling artists of today focus their networking skills on? Mostly established old farts who are around Jagger’s age. These Baby Networkers don’t bother networking each other, just those who are on the rung above. Tradition says that a young artist hits the big time just in time to push the older ones into pasture, but these days new artists want favors before they give their former heroes the boot. “Say, Dad, would you mind promoting my career, listening to my demo, and taking me by the hand to your agent before I push you off the roost so that I can become the next household word?”

    The situation has created an interesting intergenerational dynamic. Aging artists who made it by sheer will are getting hustled by minor ace self-promoters who think it’s written in heaven that they should be groomed. According to the new ethos, all that’s necessary is to ask for help relentlessly or, should I say, whine for it. This, however, doesn’t rule out good cock-teasing skills. All the Baby Networkers are hip to the value of the seductive, sleazy come-on. Just like JonBenet Ramsey, they know how to project flirtation without ever delivering. Perhaps starting at home with their parents, they’ve learned how to turn older people on, or at least touch their hearts, stimulate their protective instincts, and make them feel guilty.

    http://www.viceland.com/issues/v9n5/htdocs/creative/3.jpg'>

    Maybe the worst aspect of the Baby Networker phenomenon is the callousness with which they approach established talent. In the past, young, worshipful artists sought out culture heroes who’d inspired them. These groupies were the types who had memorized every word or chord progression of their favorite celebrity. William Burroughs had a string of them. So did stuffy old poets like James Merrill and aging rock stars like Dylan. Even that old Nazi sympathizer Leni Reifenstahl, who filmed for Hitler and just turned 100, still has a young buck-bottom to carry her camera equipment. When these old-fashioned idolizers finally met their idols, they were always full of admiration and awe. They wished only to serve and learn.

    Not so today. Fledgling artists don’t worship idols, they merely fix them in their sites as potential targets. Imagine somebody working James Joyce or Shakespeare cuz they knew he was well positioned in the industry. There they’d sit, yawning during Hamlet or admitting that Ulysses put them to sleep while in the same gesture slapping some half-baked adolescent manuscript or homemade CD down for him to read or listen to.

    Suzy Zimmerman is a 21-year-old model who doesn’t think her squeaky Valley-girl voice is a hindrance to a crossover into acting. As a model she learned to project convincingly all kinds of weary, heroin-chic, urban, working-class, whorish personae. To tell the truth, she was damn good at it. Not having spent much time sensitizing herself to her own or others’ feelings, she sees acting as little more than a timed series of attitudes. I won’t tell you whose personal assistant she’s managed to become. The woman, in her late fifties, is one of our most respected living film actresses, but she’s old enough, and I guess narcissistic enough and medicated enough, to believe that Suzy worships all her films. The truth is, Suzy only saw one of them while she was doing speedballs with her out-of-work dot.com boyfriend. They fell asleep just after she gathered enough information to flatter her new boss. The legendary star-boss is too blurred out on pills to notice that Suzy doesn’t know many facts. Meanwhile Suzy has copied down all the names and numbers from the old bag’s speed dial.
    How can someone of moderate talent be presumptuous enough to hustle a real, accomplished icon of the preceding generation? Perhaps the answer lies in the steamy, unhealthy relationships between the Baby Networkers and their baby- boomer parents. These permissive moms and dads didn’t create an atmosphere of authority or discipline to be rebelled against like my parents did. That’s where all my productivity comes from. The need to defy and escape my parents’ authority made me strive for independence and self-reliance and kept me from an impulse for shameless sucking up. I had my own identity and was too proud to come begging to the older generation.

    Accordingly, it seems to be no accident that the new self-promoters come from a generation that has had trouble leaving the family nest. Why struggle to get your own apartment when Dad doesn’t mind you fucking your girlfriend at home? Why seek to make it on your own when Mom thinks you’re the cat’s pajamas just as you are? The situation seems to have created an intergenerational intimacy just ripe for feelings of entitlement on the part of the younger generation. In a way, networking and self-promotion are a lot like asking Daddy for the keys to the car. Because baby-boomer parents spent too much time “fraternizing” with their children and letting them act out all kinds of “family romance” scenarios at home, the new generation are like pampered whores who believe that the generation above owes them a living and should be shamelessly cajoled into doing favors.


    [img]http://www.viceland.com/issues/v9n5/htdocs/creative/4.jpg'>

    The idea of the artist as a package is a relatively recent one. Even Jagger didn’t start out with much more than a guitar, a haircut, a voice, and some junkies-to-be as backup. In the beginning, when he created his most memorable music, he was no mediatized Marilyn Manson. Neither was Bob Dylan, of course. Probably the first person in rock to veer from art and self-reliance into a corporate-inspired kind of packaging was Bowie, whose glam revolution turned rock — a fairly straightforward working-class cultural phenomenon — into an upwardly mobile effort obsessed with social hobnobbing and glamour. Bowie’s art was still good music, but it was also an ingenious new business enterprise that involved hundreds of opportunistic people and glittering ambitions. Clothing, lighting, hairdos, and other eye-catching publicity techniques began to become more important than the music.

    That’s one reason why we will play old Jagger more than old Bowie fifty years from now. The new culture of self-promotion has had a disastrous effect on creation. Networked art has the shelf life of a tomato. Energy spent networking is the same energy that could be spent making masterpieces.

    Check out recent history and you’ll realize that the early fame that results from self-promotion doesn’t seem to make anything but flashes in the pan. There’s nothing worse than being acknowledged too early. Often, it can discourage you from struggling onward. Truth is, the New Networkers lacked a creative impetus in the first place. They have to cover up this lack with self-publicity. It hides the black hole of emptiness in their psyches. Again this might come from their relationship with their parents. Rage against parents was tangible with the older generations and thus more available as creative material. Rebellion creates a distinct identity. Young people today also hate their parents, but it’s a buried, passive-aggressive anger. They can’t really pin anything on their permissive moms and dads, but in some repressed way they’d like to disembowel them. For the New Networkers, rage exists more in denial. It’s less accessible to creativity. Baby Networkers lack material.

    Time will tell what will happen when the New Networkers become the older generation. From the way things are going, they can’t be expected to be listened to or read by the generation below them. But maybe this is appropriate since their output will be mostly composed of publicity. The young who work them won’t find anything but waning influence, power, and marketing strategies. Yet knowing them, you can bet they’ll try to charge for it.

    BRUCE BENDERSON
     
  5. Grant_Wood

    Grant_Wood Banned

    Joined: Mar 4, 2003 Messages: 589 Likes Received: 0
  6. Tyler Durden

    Tyler Durden Veteran Member

    Joined: Nov 18, 2001 Messages: 5,263 Likes Received: 40
    i wont even front.............i rocked the umbros in 7th grade.
     
  7. SIVIK

    SIVIK Guest

    Yo DMX cant beleive u actully considered it so much.Fuk u lost me bout way down the post.Lookn back id say the best advice would be 2 have a good mate ur tight with,be nice 2 the girls coz word spreads fast that "he's such a nice guy" this will increase ur chances of getting some action.Most importantly fukn stand up 4 urself be head strong, dont do drugs coz everyone else is it aint kool 2 look like fright nite on a monday morning.Play sport its cool 2 whip other school's ass's & u will generally meet more lads from the school & u have something in common with them.
     
  8. DMX (me) didn't write that article. it was stolen from vice magazine. anyhow here's another article that i found sort of funny and sad:


    WEED IS BACK

    The late ’90s saw cocaine MORE popular than ever. All over New York City there were bars and after-hours devoted solely to providing their patrons with the finest snow money could buy. It was the ideal drug. It went perfectly with booze, you could do it practically anywhere, and $20 easily lasted the whole night.

    Then the dealers got greedy. What once turned to oil when you rubbed it between your fingers became so full of Ajax that you’d have to sit down after every bump to deal with the nasal pain. One line meant two days of no appetite and the most Hiroshima-esque hangovers ever recorded in the history of man.

    Meanwhile, back at the lab, the neglected weed community was working on better, stronger, cheaper strains in an attempt to get back into the market. Cheesy rap songs and idiot protestors in Dr. Seuss hats had made pot uncool and, according to an NYU poll in May of 1999, marijuana smoking was down 25% from the previous year. The New York slump was blamed on Giuliani (getting thrown in jail for 24 hours for smoking a joint on the street just wasn’t worth it). The rest of the country had plenty of reasons of their own: It made you sleep in all day, dealing with any kind of confrontation was impossible, and it wasn’t portable enough. Then coke got so bad they were forced to reconsider.

    “I quit coke because I wasn’t getting any work done,” says New York photographer Nick Benson. “I’d be in bed the whole next day, moaning in pain.” Nick has taken to bringing a one-hit out with him every night and garnishing his booze high with one or two tokes. As he puts it, “I used to pass out or freak out on weed when I was a kid. This time around I’m a lot smarter about it. You don’t have to get so baked is all.”

    Jennifer Chadha is a student and waitress in Montreal, Quebec. She was reintroduced to pot after her boyfriend gave her a hit three weeks ago. “It’s great,” she explains cheerily. “The coke I was doing was so shitty it literally gave me some kind of growth on the glands in my neck. Now instead of staying up all night, I come home at a normal hour, have a laughing party with my boyfriend, and go to sleep.”

    Once again the people have spoken. While coke dealers priced themselves right out of the market and lowered their quality to carcinogenic proportions, pot dealers kept the same prices (even during massive busts and terrorist attacks) and raised their quality through the roof. The result is a whole new generation of pot lovers. Goodbye, cocaine. It was real. It was fun. But it wasn’t real fun.

    CODY KRITCHELOE
     
  9. Dr. Dazzle

    Dr. Dazzle Veteran Member

    Joined: Nov 19, 2001 Messages: 8,147 Likes Received: 3
    ^^^
    Shit man, who didn't? Almost all of those things were true for me....

    God bless you, Vice.
     
  10. ctrl+alt+del

    ctrl+alt+del Guest

    i had green umbros that were the shit.
     
  11. Grant_Wood

    Grant_Wood Banned

    Joined: Mar 4, 2003 Messages: 589 Likes Received: 0
  12. Grant_Wood

    Grant_Wood Banned

    Joined: Mar 4, 2003 Messages: 589 Likes Received: 0
  13. worldoflies

    worldoflies Junior Member

    Joined: Dec 7, 2001 Messages: 179 Likes Received: 0
    this is a little dated isn't it. sounds exactly like when i was in junior high school in early 90's but the person who wrote it is probably even a few years older than me(david lee roth reference etc). my understanding is that recently blow jobs have become rather common among the teeny bopper set. apparently they are giving them out like prizes in a box of cracker jacks. damn i was born a few years too early. my sister is 14 and her little friends are always at my house trying to flirt with me but i'm not about to go down that path...
     
  14. suburbian bum

    suburbian bum 12oz Loyalist

    Joined: Jan 30, 2001 Messages: 14,673 Likes Received: 3
    althought that guide to surviving middle school seemed pretty on point i want to see a guide to surviving high school. I could use it.


    Yeah blowjobs are common among middle schoolers now adays. Its a little phenomenon i call "The sluttification of America." Good Charolette and Michelle Branch are to blame for it.
     
  15. Grant_Wood

    Grant_Wood Banned

    Joined: Mar 4, 2003 Messages: 589 Likes Received: 0
    One afternoon me and my friends were hanging out and we were driving to Henderson. Anna was driving and her boyfriend upfront. They were kissing while driving. Me and my friend Jewel and cousin Raquel were in the back dancing. Anna and Ryan got a little carried away and "FRISKY" If you know what I mean. We came to a stop light and I looked over and saw a cop coming right our way. "Ryan get off her" I said. He paid no attention. So Jewel grabbed him and threw him in the seat. The cop opened the door and asked what's the problem kids? Ryan said there was a wasp and it was about to sting Anna. The cop knew it was a lie and he also knew we were just teens. So he let it go.
     
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