WELCOME TO RIVERVIEW HIGH

If you’re looking for a run down cockroach-infested, school built some time

in the late 17th century then look no further then Riverview High School located on the polluted and potentially deadly Phillippi Creek in good old Sarasota, FI. All year round you will get to experience the ceilings of the school falling in and flooding the class rooms, construction throughout the campus which will guarantee your being late for class and a detention soon to follow, and the added bonus of no parking spots in your senior year so you can have the ever so embarrassing joy of having your mother driving you to school.

Riverview is also full of the ever present security which lets you leave campus under the agreement that you must bring back a Big Mac or Whopper for coach Vic if you want to get back on without being chased down by his golf cart. It's not only Vic that you must fear on the golf cart. Every member of the elite Riverview security is issued one, which promises that the ever-busy security will never have to stand during a school day. There are many places that you can go to hide from Security when you decide to skip class. The library seems to be a very safe haven for all students who like to pretend they enjoy a novel by dickens instead of geometry. If you are an athlete of any sort you can always find refuge in the class of your coach who doesn't care if you attend class as long as you're at practice to prepare for the big game against Bay Shore or Sarasota High.

Riverview is full of different types of kids. You've got your prep's who like to wear your standard preppie gear of Abercrombie & Fitch, Banana Republic, and Structure to name a few. Then you have you freaks that seem to like to dabble into devil worshiping and witchcraft that have a style similar to Marilyn Manson. At times you will run into your standard wigger who feels he was brought up like his gangsta idol even though he was raised in a loving home in the upper class neighborhood of Prestancia. This child will not hesitate to bust a cap in ya if you decide to front or what ever it may be that angers his fragile psyche. Another type you may run into is the laid back Rastafarian, who seems to be becoming a more and more prominent figure around town. This student doesn't really care about much except where he's smoking pot after school and his constant pursuit to be more and more like Bob Marley. And of course there's your average dork that seems to always be about five years late on the fashion scene, but to them it doesn't matter because in ten years they are going to be my boss telling me what to wear to work. Now all these kids make up the framework for the grading scale. Your dorks are always at the top of the class with some where around a 4.8 g.p.a. The preps are smart in there own right but are usually to hung over to do there work so they use there popularity to get the dork next to them to do their home work and let them copy their test, so these kids usually fall within the 3.2 to 4.0 g.p.a range. When the Rastafarian kid is not stoned or not missing school he can usually pull in some petty good grades, which range any where from a 2.3 to 3.0. And of course there are the freaks and wiggers. If they haven't dropped out by their senior year they have failed out or struggle through school with a 1.5 and some how manage to graduate high school but that's

Whether physical or verbal, displays of temper have haunted me from childhood and have always produced unpleasant results. My first physical display of temper occurred when I was five years old. When my mother banished me to my room for a reason I no longer remember, I was so angry, that I ripped every page

from every picture book on my shelves and created a colorful clutter that covered the floor of my room. Then I ripped the bed sheets from my bed and dumped the contents of my dresser drawers on the floor among the picture hook pages. When my mother saw the debris that resulted from this temper tantrum, she promptly gave me my first spanking. Although I cannot remember why I was sent to my room that day, I will never forget the results of my actions. When I was eight years old, my volatile temper caused my younger sister to be injured. One Saturday, my mother insisted that I baby-sit. Angry that my afternoon had been ruined, I snatched my five-year-old sister's hand and dragged her to the bank yard. There I plopped her into a seat of the teeter-totter and mounted the other. Within minutes I was propelling the swing set at such a furious pace that it lurched in its concrete base. On one of the lurches, my sister was thrown from her seat. She landed on her back and took several minutes to regain her breath. She had a dark bruise on her hip which remained for several days. Although my parents did not punish me that tine, I punished myself many times aver with guilt. By high school, my displays of temper were verbal rather than physical. For example, when my friend Cindy came to me crying because she had not been invited to a party, I confronted the party-giver with a barrage of verbal insults telling her that she was only popular because her parents had money, and I promise to tell the4 whole school that she bleached her hair. My attack was so obnoxious that I was dis-invited to the party, which all of my friends, even Cindy, attended, and, which, I learned later, was the best party of the year. As I enter adulthood, I hope I will learn to just grit my teeth.

Anthony Cooper

Humorous guide to hometown

Welcome to sunny Bradenton Florida, where it rains two-thirds of the year. Ah yes, Cheery Bradenton, where you'll find no example ofthat pesky thing called hope. Yes it's Bradenton, trailer park capital of the world, where you'll find the perfect mix between that famous southern intelligence, and just enough money to keep it going. You'll find hours of enjoyment in gazing endlessly at our water. .. and wondering exactly why it's glowing and yellow. Do you love dancing in the rain? Then our magical city is for you, just don't stay in it too long, if you enjoy your skin that is. Tired of pride in your home town? Then come to Bradenton, where we avoid all talks of our great city. Tired of people knowing the place your speaking about? Come to Bradenton, where you'll forever be telling people you live close to Tampa. Y ou'lliove our historic landmark, the slave farm. Which happens to be directly across from one of our many wonderful convenience stores. You'll know them when you see em, they're thc ones with the thick stcel bars on the windows. Can't stand the peace and quiet? Had enough of feeling safe? Move to Bradenton, where sirens can be heard on an hourly basis. You happen to be a criminal yourself? You've found home. Join the hundreds of crooks inhabiting our wonderful city, you've found your place in the world. Of course, that's not to say we don't have our share of decent citizens, you'll find all 12 of them living in a well secluded area, behind gates and lasers. So come and visit our fair city, we'll welcome you with open arms. and closed