I consider myself an expert when it comes to several things. One thing I am not an expert at is knowledge about yearbooks. That’s kind of a silly thing to be an expert at. Become an awesome fencer or the fastest person at saying the alphabet backwards. Those are real talents that will actually get you somewhere. Not like extensive yearbook knowledge which only leads to drugs.
(Yearbook Expert/Junkie, Bubbles)
To first understand the title of this post, you must know what a yearbook is. A yearbook is defined as “a piece of shit book produced by a biased organization full of censorship.” That’s a little harsh. I prefer to call it a booklet full of good memories, friends, and a couple of boogers. Most schools produce a yearbook for children each year of their existence. It’s nice and they don’t only do it for the money even though it’s only the graduating class that is ever featured.
I own three yearbooks. One from my 5th grade year, one from my 8th grade year, and one from my 12th grade year. I only would get one when I was graduating. I don’t know where my 5th grade one went. It had cardboard covers. It’s the one yearbook I wish I had most. I would like to see what the dead kids I know wish they had grown up to be. If it was dead then I would shit my pants. My 8th grade yearbook isn’t bad. My picture I don’t look too grotesque and I even have 1 or 2 hot girl who signed it. One of them drew a heart. The other didn’t even know my name I guess and wrote my screen name instead. Shit. All that time spent looking down her shirt in home room for nothing. She has the first nipple I’ve ever seen in person. She has no clue either. Don’t feel bad though for me being a pervert. She told someone who she wouldn’t date him because he wasn’t in good enough shape. Now she’s fat. That’s not karma, it’s the effects of alcohol and excessive pudding consumption. My 12th grade yearbook is pretty pointless. I didn’t bother going to get my picture taken. They wanted me to show up at 7:30 in the morning during summer. Yeah, what the fuck? I’ve waited all these months to sleep in and now I need to not only buy a suit, I have to wake up early and look nice for your damn photograph? No thank you. I bet they hired that same photographer who would say “turkey toes” to get us to smile. That’s smile entrapment. How can you not laugh saying turkey toes? It’s alliteration. The funniest formation of words are always alliteration. Big brown baby badger butt. Hilarious!
(Actual turkey toes. Not nearly as much fun to look at as it is to say it)
No matter where you went to school your yearbook is the same. I’ll stick with high school because most of us are too stupid to remember anything before that. I know I am. Every yearbook has colored photos of seniors and the rest of the class gets tiny black and white ones. It’s kind of degrading really. Seniors get to live in a Wizard of Oz world while the rest of the younger students are forced into a Schindler’s List scene. The younger kids also don’t get to vote on who they think is cutest, smartest, or most likely to be assassinated due to their politics. I tried rigging the votes my senior year by stuffing the ballots with the worst possible winners imaginable but those pesky administrators caught on. Or my compulsive lying friend lied to me. I’ll go with that one. I am much more likely to believe that a 17-year-old would lie to me over thinking a vice principal can count past his weekly earnings.
(Image taken from my high school yearbook of our marching band leading a visiting team’s mascot to her death)
I look through my high school yearbook now and don’t have many fond memories. There’s a picture of the “Whacky Races” an event I had no desire to attend. Then there’s the fashion show. Hey, that girl is ugly. She shouldn’t be allowed in the fashion show! There are pictures of people I don’t like walking, there are pictures of people I don’t like sitting, there are pictures of people I didn’t even know went to my school playing a guitar. I must not like him either. I remember everyone I meet. Who the fuck is this guy? I’d scan the picture on the Internet but it’s illegal to do. The yearbook company owns the rights to the pictures. Yeah, ain’t that something to kick a can of shit about. They can take a picture of you without your knowledge, throw it into a book, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it. I love you America!
Perhaps, in many years from now, I can look through my yearbook with better memories. Or more likely I’ll throw it away. Or that random freshman I asked to sign it might become famous and then I can sell that page at least. Either way, if you are reading this chubby black girl who had a crush on me back in 8th grade, I did what you told me to do in my yearbook. I stayed cool. I did it for you. I hope you had a great summer like I suggested. Even if you are a lesbian now.