Schoolies Go Home.

Schoolies week. It’s like Surfers Paradise is a healthy prostate and 22,000 school leavers are cancer. It’s a plague, an epidemic, an unholy, unwarranted and unwelcome invasion of stupid and horny boys and girls who can only muster a backbone if in a group of at least 6. It’s 2008, over 20 years of schoolies week is behind us and the best you can come up with from the back window of an overloaded Camry wagon is “yeaaah! Whoooo!”. I fucking hate you you stupid fucking schoolie and if I could run as fast as that Camry, you’d currently be in the predicament of finding a new way to chew food and sit down since I stuffed your head up your own ass! Just imagine how messy a sneeze would be!

What I find sadistically amusing is one of the poor kids has been struck down by meningococcal disease. Oh sweet terrible justice how I love thee. And the symptoms? I can barely type them out because I need my hands to stop my sides from splitting with evil laughter. They include, headaches and vomiting. Well that’ll sort it out then! The measures of prevention include good hygiene and avoiding sharing drink cups! Oh… my… god! Can you hear that, schoolie? Can you hear it? It’s the sound of your worthy demise.

Schoolies week is supposed to be the Australian version of America’s Spring Break. But the imagery conjured from Spring Break is that of tanned bodies in wet t-shirt competitions while schoolies week imagery better resembles a pimply faced Victorian throwing up at a bus stop. Well you wretched batch of smelly, unwashed upgraded monkeys; one of your own has been sacrificed to a Brisbane hospital and the Grim Reaper might just be lurking in that bush you’re about to dry hump each other in. Headaches and vomiting. Yes, it could be the booze, but it might, it just might be Death and his name is meningococcal.

Take the hint. Go home. Live.