Dumber than Dumb: Stupider than Stupid
You are stupid. Definitively, you are not intellectually gifted ― at least compared to others who are not defined as stupid. Your reaction speed and your ability to form conclusions based on assumptive reasoning is below average as is the case with many others in your class. You have little ambition and your only thought pattern revolves around abstracts other people can hardly grasp due to your intellectual dullness. You can't breathe without keeping your mouth open at all times, causing you to have an appearance most might consider funny ― a standing, unruly figure with a gaping mouth held open at nearly all times.
There are categories of stupid, but you are not the annoying kind. You are the hopeless kind. You have scored the 1st percentile of grades, putting you as the worse. You're worse than stupid ― possibly stupider than stupid itself. People avoid you and dread you as you are the culmination of hopelessness itself. You spend days alone by yourself in an isolated, single-man classroom where your proctor administers watch and generic assignments to you at all times at Stupid Instrumental Secondary School, where you are taught how to mitigate the problems your stupidity causes by filling out worksheets and answering questions as if it's damage control.
Your parents have been thinking of taking you out of Stupid Instrumental Secondary School. But you're a senior, and it's almost time that you start making decisions for yourself. As someone who's scored in the 1st percentile, you are awful at making decisions. It clearly shows in your transcript. Your average of test scores shows you out to be a lackluster, horrible student. You talk plenty, but you can hardly speak a lick of sense. People around you either feel bad for you or mock you. Even the stupid people around you are dreadful of your presence because of the implications of your mediocrity both in and out of school.
You can't count numbers or quantitatively express things correctly without additional assistance. You need the help of your proctor to read complex and conjunctive sentences and simple phrases become tongue-twisters for you. You are unable to express your feelings without flying into crazed manic expressions of confusion. You can't even look at someone without your eyes going crazy and you are semi-applicable to be sent to a Stupid Asylum as the facilities of the Stupid Instrumental Secondary School are unable to sufficiently support you any longer. However, as the school year winds to a close in what might be your final year attending unless you are hold back, your applicability starts to waver. Things are starting to look good for you and you've mellowed out despite being a problem for your proctors for the most part.
In your desk, you sit alone in a room of no one aside from your proctor and yourself.
You're handed worksheets to fill out everyday; worksheets about your behavior and worksheets that follow a basic, rudimentary curriculum of individual focus. You are constantly expected to answer questions about yourself. Questions like: "What is your name?" and "What color shirt are you wearing?" are repeated through your worksheets and you occasionally miss them, forgetting what you're wearing or forgetting what the question is even asking because of your stupidity.
Your quiet school environment is contrasted for the chaos in-between breaks as each passing segment of the eight hours you must stay allows students of the Stupid Instrumental Secondary School to take breaks from the mundane nature of their indoor classrooms and to frolic in hallways, causing whatever madness suits their needs best as incidents break out on the daily.
As an especially stupid senior the stupidest of all of what might be the secondary school population, you are applicable to be sent to the asylum, and you know what that means. You heard they douse you into a septic tank and they inject you with Clorox. They put a cloth of chloroform over your mouth and they enslave you to do work for the dumb residents. That's just what you heard from others.
You don't want that to happen to you. You decide to try and evade the asylum by nightly reading to prove you are sane enough to be a functioning, normal stupid member of society. What books do you choose to read?
There are categories of stupid, but you are not the annoying kind. You are the hopeless kind. You have scored the 1st percentile of grades, putting you as the worse. You're worse than stupid ― possibly stupider than stupid itself. People avoid you and dread you as you are the culmination of hopelessness itself. You spend days alone by yourself in an isolated, single-man classroom where your proctor administers watch and generic assignments to you at all times at Stupid Instrumental Secondary School, where you are taught how to mitigate the problems your stupidity causes by filling out worksheets and answering questions as if it's damage control.
Your parents have been thinking of taking you out of Stupid Instrumental Secondary School. But you're a senior, and it's almost time that you start making decisions for yourself. As someone who's scored in the 1st percentile, you are awful at making decisions. It clearly shows in your transcript. Your average of test scores shows you out to be a lackluster, horrible student. You talk plenty, but you can hardly speak a lick of sense. People around you either feel bad for you or mock you. Even the stupid people around you are dreadful of your presence because of the implications of your mediocrity both in and out of school.
You can't count numbers or quantitatively express things correctly without additional assistance. You need the help of your proctor to read complex and conjunctive sentences and simple phrases become tongue-twisters for you. You are unable to express your feelings without flying into crazed manic expressions of confusion. You can't even look at someone without your eyes going crazy and you are semi-applicable to be sent to a Stupid Asylum as the facilities of the Stupid Instrumental Secondary School are unable to sufficiently support you any longer. However, as the school year winds to a close in what might be your final year attending unless you are hold back, your applicability starts to waver. Things are starting to look good for you and you've mellowed out despite being a problem for your proctors for the most part.
In your desk, you sit alone in a room of no one aside from your proctor and yourself.
You're handed worksheets to fill out everyday; worksheets about your behavior and worksheets that follow a basic, rudimentary curriculum of individual focus. You are constantly expected to answer questions about yourself. Questions like: "What is your name?" and "What color shirt are you wearing?" are repeated through your worksheets and you occasionally miss them, forgetting what you're wearing or forgetting what the question is even asking because of your stupidity.
Your quiet school environment is contrasted for the chaos in-between breaks as each passing segment of the eight hours you must stay allows students of the Stupid Instrumental Secondary School to take breaks from the mundane nature of their indoor classrooms and to frolic in hallways, causing whatever madness suits their needs best as incidents break out on the daily.
As an especially stupid senior the stupidest of all of what might be the secondary school population, you are applicable to be sent to the asylum, and you know what that means. You heard they douse you into a septic tank and they inject you with Clorox. They put a cloth of chloroform over your mouth and they enslave you to do work for the dumb residents. That's just what you heard from others.
You don't want that to happen to you. You decide to try and evade the asylum by nightly reading to prove you are sane enough to be a functioning, normal stupid member of society. What books do you choose to read?