My grades aren't bad.
Mostly B's.
B's don't stand for "Bad," they stand for "Better-than-average." I don't understand why my mother is upset with me. I'm better than the average person. Actually, I could be way better... If it wasn't for being so lazy. I just need to turn in my stuff. Especially History. I have a D in that class...
Moreover, I have two zeros in Art. I checked on the internet to see what I was missing and I think my art teacher is totally blind. Both of the things that I'm "missing" are in the front pocket of my sketchbook; right next to the thing he did grade. I don't get it. I have three things in the front pocket. He graded the one that was behind the things I was "missing."
What was the teacher thinking? Let's take a gander, shall we?
"Doo-di-doo-di-doo. I'm an art teacher, yeah... I'm gradin' art stuff, yeah... I have funny grey hair, yeah... Let's see, oh, Wyatt's Sketchbook; he has nice work, but I'm not going to say that because I hate him for no damn reason. I'm just going to point out all of his flaws instead. Doo-di-doo-di-doo. I need to grade three things from him. Doo-di-doo-di-doo. Hmm... I wonder where it is. Oh! I know, I'll check the front pocket of his sketchbook because that's where I told everyone to put their papers. -- What's this? There are two pieces of paper here blocking my way to the thing in the back that I need to grade. I'll just move the papers without looking at them, grade the thing in the back, and put the papers back. *Phew* Now I'm glad that's over... Huh, Wyatt didn't do two of his assignments. Shame on him. F('s)! Doo-di-doo-di-doo..."
Whatever. I'll point out his grading flaws and then I'll be happy.
HAPPY.
