"Yeah bud, hide at the gym for another 3 hours. That's all you got going for you anyway, just keep avoiding the drama. It's not like your involved in the drama or anything... You just caused it."

It is midnight. I'm home, my old sisters away and everyone upstairs is sound asleep. I spend most of the night resting, watching a few episodes of Entourage and flipping through On Demand shows. I get this sudden urge to hop into my internet dimension. Why not, right?

I whip off my fuzzy blue blanket and roll off the couch. I calmly walk over to my family's living-room, where our little computer station lives. I leap roughly onto our office chair and press on a wireless white mouse. The computer screen lights up and I comfortably log onto my Macintosh user.

I type in 'Facebook' and my loaded newsfeed appears. I hate the fact that I enjoy reading other people's statuses. Why do I have to care about the lives of my so called friends? Dominating the page is non other than the queen of Facebooking. She takes pictures of herself, complains about relationship issues in her statuses and has a new post on her wall every 3 seconds. Why isn't she such a big mouth in real life?

This girl drives me nuts. She's just like every other white girl in the city. She loves attention, I swear to you her parents don't acknowledge her presence around the house. The girl does whatever she has to in order to fit in. I'm totally different. I'm a complete individual, and that gives me a great deal of power in the high school world. Someday somebody just has to slap some common sense into that chick. Could I do the honors? 

She also just so happens to get with every boy imaginable. Jocks, nerds, musicians, skaters and every straggler in between. Girls love to brag about how they hooked up with so and so. The Facebook queen once famously announced, "She like hates me because I like got with her boyfriend!" I hate you because you just said like twice in a sentence. I refuse to like that status.

At the same time, she's just crazy hot. She has the perfect figure, the best behind and not a bad rack. I sometimes think about just cuddling with her, holding her close to my body. It makes me go mad. Why do I want this tart anywhere near me? I'm better than her and every other girl in all ways possible. I'm not bragging, it's true. I've been through hell in my life and I deserve to be proud of where I stand.  

I close the Facebook window and sign into the Frostyflakes chat room. Its empty, as usual. Some XAT.COM lurker private chats me and starts complaining about how I rigged a challenge. I wonder what I did wrong this time? A few other angry chatters message me so that they can sneak a piece of the drama. Every freaking internet dweller brings so much stress into my life.

I close the chat window without replying to a single Penguin. I get off the computer chair and stomp my way into a dark kitchen. I carefully lay down on the wooden floor, and I begin to perform pushups. This is my way of dealing with the negative energy I receive from certain people. 

I wonder if you can bench as much as me?