Wolfson High School
a high school in jacksonville, fl. known to many outsiders as home of the wolfpack, a commendable magnet program school for the talented young learners. however, to those students unfortunate enough to attend, we know the real story; the one the news stations cover up… our school is not what it appears. from a princ-p-l who’s favorite past time was hiding in his office to refrain from having to do anything, to a dean who relished in writing you up even if you had attained a p-ss out of cl-ss, that is just the beginning. last year, wolfson turned into a zoo of kids. we were so out of control and unsupervised, our fights escalated to the point we had to have police officers on horses come on campus and at least 10 cars of police. you know you go to wolfson when your 20 feet from the fight going on and you still get sprayed with pepper spray. you know you go to wolfson when the 2 hallway girls bathroom is always flooded with an unidentifiable liquid. you know you go to wolfson when every student in the school has a girlfriend and a boyfriend. you know you go to wolfson when the teacher has you play online games on the projector because they dont feel like teaching today. you know you go to wolfson when you sat here reading this and could -ssociate just about every sentence in this with a person at school, goin “h-ll yea thats true”.
bob, a straight a goody two-shoes at wolfson high school, walks thru the hallway with a big clipboard and a neon vest for his hallp-ss.
ms. d “young man! let me see your hallp-ss.”
bob looks confused and up and down at his bright a– vest.
ms. d “did you hear me?! come here. now.”
bob walks over “ms. d, i really have to go to the bathroom, obviously you can see i have a p-ss, this aint a fashion statement.”
ms d “are you getting smart with me? come with me, what house are you in?”
bob “but ms, i have a p-ss, im not doin anythign wrong.”
ms d “uh huh, sure. we’re gonna go have a talk with your house administrator.”
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