get some medicine for that ego babe, it's swelling up

   you're so funny, thinking your invitation, if at that, to a senior's party makes you cool. far from it, actually. it makes you just as washed up as them, just four years too early. you think if they're partying now, just weeks away from midterms, that those are the people that're going to end up affluent and intelligent? oh honey. i suppose i've made it rather clear how much i despise you. though for the sake of your dear old mom and dad, i sincerely hope you don't get hit in the head with a basketball at the next game. oh how dreadful it would be if both your academic and athletic careers were to go up in flames in the same year. all of you. this is no targeted attack, mind you. i despise each and every one of you "athletes" and your little girlfriends, too. although, i hold out hope for them, as their naïvety is not a result of your "effortless good looks" or "charm", both of which are highly subjective and quite frankly, insignificant in the grander scheme of things. what are you going to be at 40? dead of a highly preventable heart attack? married to your second wife, a twenty-three-year-old named everleigh? estranged from your several children due to your insufferable tendencies to dwell on the past, your glory days long over? get your head out of your ass and take a good look around. this is your life. don't mess it up. nobody will feel sorry for you when you do. and that's a when. not an if. unless you get your asshole personalities sorted out, you'll just be sad, old losers who peaked in high school and rode that high for way too long. rethink your damn priorities. this, you see, is not it. chances are you'd never have made it into a place like this without your disposable athletic abilities. you're injured? replaced. you're rude to the coach? replaced. nothing you do matters. make it matter. or else there's a 100% chance your life will be boring and fake and repetitive for the next forty-some-odd years you manage to not die.