Down With Valley Girls

Look, I know stereotyping is bad. And I know it's hypocritical of me to say this, because I'm obviously not the most articulate person around, but come on.

There are certain times in life when you just have to sit back and go, "Oh. My God. That empty headed bimbo at the front of the line at Supre did not just turn from the mirror and wonder why her S-for-slut necklace was around the wrong way. And oh, look, now she's yelling at the attendant for faulty products… Wow, there goes the rest of her sugar-free, calorie-free diet coke!"

Because seriously people, let's get real. Barbies are supposed to be left behind in the fourth grade, right after you've mutilated their heads and stabbed out various body parts. They're not supposed to appear with alarming regularity at the shopping centres, cinemas or local brothels.

Speaking of which, why do they all feel the need to bare as much skin as they can without being arrested for indecent exposure? Have they not realised that there are skirts out there with a hemline below the ass? Or perhaps they've never before encountered a t-shirt where Hollywood tape wasn't necessary? Although I have noticed that girls these days are choosing to forgo the tape and just let it all hang free…

But, um, ew! Maybe all the liberated women back in the sixties and seventies didn't care, but we have this thing today called standards. And let me tell you, almost getting knocked out cold by Courtney Parker's double-ds in physical education is not the most pleasant experience you'll ever have. Seriously, they are a bouncing lawsuit just waiting to happen.

Of course, if she and her fellow plastic cronies ever payed attention to anything more than their hair, then maybe it wouldn't feel like you're landing on a trampoline after every tackle you go for, and getting suffocated by hazardous body parts wouldn't be a problem.

In fact, there should be a regulation in school sports classes that doesn't allow certain 'sizes' to participate in the same PE classes that the rest of us 'smallies' get to enjoy every Monday and Thursday. Then maybe Alannah Harris wouldn't currently be in the local hospital awaiting brain surgery for a large dint in her forehead.

But really, aside from the obvious similarities (that ones that practically beg to meet your eyes), there are the smaller, less distinct ones. Take the monotonous bottle-blond hair, for example. And yes, I know it can vary from clique to clique, 'individual' to 'individual', but it's all blonde, people! It's all the same boring yellow to those of us that could care less about the colour of our hair! (Trust me, I have unlimited experience on this matter as my own hair is… well, blondish.)

Theirs is all fake, as well, unlike yours truly's. Seriously, though, if it isn't the very latest in hip caramel highlights, it's classy beige undertones. How is beige on hair classy? It's okay for a bloody office wall, but on hair? I don't think so.

Really, these days girls are dyeing their hair so often it's a wonder it doesn't just all fall out and just grow back beige! But can you imagine the pandemonium that would result if all the prancing ponies of the pageant world were bald? Civilisation as we know it would never be the same.

Schools would grind to a halt (because no high school can function properly without the customary set of blonde bitches), modelling agencies would turn bankrupt and the likes of Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears and Paris Hilton would disappear forever. Not that it would be a bad thing…

And then there's the universal language for ditzes everywhere: Valley Girl speak. The very (shrill) sound of it can cause any self-respecting nerd to cringe. "Like, I totally, like, was like, 'no way! You're like, stealing my boyfriend, bitch!' And she was all; 'I totally am not!' Like, you know?" I mean, seriously, do you not know what a dictionary is for, or are you really that dumb? … When the wannabe-clone I asked face-planted into the toilet cubicle so she didn't have to touch the door, I got my answer. Followed by a, "Get lost, freak!" … and the accompanied sound of vomiting.

Which really, just proves my point. All Valley Girls are bitches. If it's not, "Where'd you get that skirt? It looks like your mum's ass!" it's, "Like, oh my god, what the hell happened to your face?" Well, like, oh my god, you cow, some teenagers have this little affliction called acne! I can't even remember the number of times I've seen a delicately positioned foot trip some poor guy over, just because he was a little too involved in playing Donkey Kong to notice what was going on around him. Or that poor girl in Special Ed who wears a jaw brace but repeatedly gets chased by all those guys in physics or whatever who have some sort of magnet project to do.

I doubt they even know the meaning of the word nice—they're like some weird sort of heartless robots that would be more likely to stab someone in the jugular with a heel than give a compliment. Yes, Courtney Parker, I am talking to you.

I would just like to say, in conclusion, that without Valley Girls, the world would be a better place. No more girls starving themselves with a lettuce-and-coke diet; no more idiotic dribble on television such as Laguna Beach or TheOC. No more finding nail files in strange places such as the bottom of your sister's laundry basket, or barely-there bras in your brother's room.

In fact, without Valley Girls there to break all the nerds' spirit, the world would advance so far technologically that we'd be able to have genetic selection to ensure they never came back again. Remember, bitches: be nice to geeks, because one day you'll end up working for them.

So, Ms C, I know you told us to do our persuasive essay on a subject of our choice 'providing it wasn't controversial', but I really think that I've opened up my classmates' eyes to the possibilities of a world without empty-headed skanks.

And I know that maybe reading it out at our school assembly for the Parent Information Night mightn't have been the best idea, especially because—according to my psychologist—I was venting my frustrations over the whole Dana Cartwright/tomato sauce scandal, but you did tell us to write what we're 'passionate about'. So I really hope you keep that in mind when you're marking this.

And I know it was a 500 word limit, but sometimes I get a bit over-enthusiastic. I really hope you overlook that, too. And that strange stain on the top corner. It's only Courtney Parker's blood, anyway.

Grade: B-

Finely orated, Miss Kendall, if a little unorthodox in subject choice. I'm not too sure if your decision to read it in front of the school's board was an altogether bright one, if the principal's expression was anything to go by—but by god, the bastard needs to be taken down a peg. Thinks he can fire me for 'fornicating with colleagues', does he? I'll show him fornication.

Oh, by the way, Miss Kendall, glad to see you remembered that Miss Parker's my niece. I'll be expecting you to come by my office to collect your Saturday detention: someone needs to keep Courtney company while she's in hospital, and as I'll be busy… teaching… it might as well be you.

I was bored. Apparently I was in a subconscious rant, too, because I actually found the first half of this and then continued it. That's why the first half, I'd like to think, is better. Also, for those of you who may not quite understand the point of parody, this is from a completely fictional character's point of view. I don't have blonde hair and I have never been in a tomato sauce incident. Okay? Good. Glad we got that settled.