An Embittered Valedictorian Speech

by Jordy Greenblatt

Four years gone by. Wow. It’s difficult to describe the feeling I have standing at this podium in my blue cap and gown and looking at the faces of all my classmates. It’s almost like I’m seeing a living scrapbook of my high school memories. In the front row is the girl that turned me down for Prom both of the last two years, there’s the guy who left a dead possum in my locker for all of Spring Break until I had to have it rebuilt just to get rid of the smell, the gym teacher who used to shout homophobic slurs at me when I didn’t want to play dodge ball, the girl who told everyone that I got an erection when I saw Mrs. Zeever’s cleavage in ninth grade English, etc. I have to say, standing over all of you, looking down, and holding a piece of paper signed by the principal that says I’m objectively better than each and every one of you, I feel pretty good about the whole thing.

I’m sure everyone remembers when Jeff Saunders pulled down my pants in the packed football stadium. I know because I saw you all laugh and laugh until tears streamed down your cheeks. Well, enjoy your job at the Gas-n-Go, Jeff. When I come back to town in my shiny Porsche and stop for a fill up, I’ll be sure to tip you in pennies.

When the administration asked me to speak today, they said the topic would be “What I Learned at Greenville High and How It Will Guide Me in the Future.” Well, I’ll tell you exactly what I learned; people suck. People are sheep. Cruel, mindless, locker-vandalizing, homework-stealing, wedgie-giving, nipple-twisting sheep. How will it guide me in the future? First off, I will never trust anybody. Ever. Secondly, it’s going to guide me right back here for our tenth reunion to laugh at your minimum wage earning asses as I flash my thousand dollar Rolex under your dirty, plebian faces.

But I don’t hate you; I pity you. Actually, let me clarify: yesterday I hated you, today I pity you. Yesterday you were my tormentors. Yesterday you laughed at my awkward attempts to fit in. Yesterday you tied my shoelaces together and turned my backpack inside out for amusement. But today you sit before me, silent in the face of my indisputable triumph over your perverse, juvenile antics. Today you are mere insects and I am a 7 year old pyromaniac with a magnifying glass on a blindingly sunny day.

Well, it looks like I’m getting a signal from the principal that either means “time’s almost up” or “for the love of God, quit drawing attention to the hopeless inferiority of the overwhelming bulk of the graduating class,” so I’ll start to wrap up. But before I go, I’d like to offer these words of advice to the audience:

Treat others as you would like to be treated because the ones who are weakest now will grow to be your masters in a few years.

Everyone is accountable for his or her actions so think carefully next time you consider putting maggots in someone’s Star Trek lunchbox.

Revenge is a dish best served with visible schadenfreude and fits of uncontrollable laughter. So expect that.

Finally, I’d like to close by wishing good luck to all my classmates; you’re gonna need it, fuckers!