Sabrina the Teenage Bitch
The ultimate algorithm for ultimate popularity
HI, I’M SABRINA, THE TEENAGE BITCH. That’s right, I said it. I’m that girl in high school who, ya know, already knows herself. I’ve got it all figured out — boys, grades, college, parents, social stratosphere, body image, fashion, sex, weed, booze, friends, social media, and everything else in between. At first, being the teenage “bitch” wasn’t easy. It took work — like A LOT of work, but eventually, I became the easiest and bitchiest best “me” of all time.
Firstly, you must make sure people are afraid of you because you’re mean but super confident and beautiful. Secondly, those same people will beg, like abandoned puppy dogs, for your attention — a compliment, a “hello,” a general nod in their “fugly” direction. People are pathetic. Humans are weak. The sooner you process this, the easier the algorithm to total popularity becomes. This is your recipe for being crowned homecoming queen. You can become the most coveted bitch in the halls of your lame-ass high school. The school that’s dripping with the sweat of dumbasses that are desperate to please you and be you.
You should really apply this algorithm from the ripe old age of five. Once elementary school begins, so does your foundation for the ultimate queen of popularity. You must reign the halls with complete and utter bitchiness. Let’s start with sleepover parties. Be the girl to put peanut butter coated pretzels in the dumb girl’s hands who fell asleep before the party really started. Put the lollipop you just sucked on in her hair, then show everyone and laugh at her. Play Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, and be sure it is you they levitate first. No one will dare go next, and you’ll convince them of your witchy ways. Remember, you’re striving for an unearthly status. Take your power and step on their souls with it!
When the board game Girl Talk comes out, LIE. That’s right, lie your perfect little ponytail off. You “did” kiss Brad, the up-and-coming most popular jock-boy, after he begged you for a week to kiss him. At this point, you felt sorry for him, and it was a pity kiss because, ya know, you’re just that kind and friendly a human. Remember to mention that his “peck” was dry like Judy’s (that math nerd) permanently chapped lips. Don’t forget, with one lie, throw in a dig at some other unsuspecting loser for more clout. Works. Every. Time. These dumbasses will be wearing your hairstyle and rockin’ your electric yellow purse in a matter of days. Basically, all they’ll need is some serious plastic surgery and a name change to become you. The beauty of it all is that they’ll know they can never attain that goal. This is the magic that leaves them shining your shoes and pretending to be you in their bathroom mirrors at home — the knowledge that you are perfect. So perfect, in fact, that they can never reach that level of pure goddess status and popularity. HA!
This next lesson should also begin from the ground up with your popularity climb to success. You must ALWAYS be ahead of the fashion curve. Your look is unique, expensive, and reminiscent of a runway.
By the time middle school rolls around, make sure you have a solid posse of about five girls who are your total groupies, your minions. Girls who will never stray. You’re going for complete loyalty. Throw them a bone in the form of a lipstick, invite them over to your home, and compliment their shiny silver scrunchie. If they occasionally see a nice side of you, they will crave it all of the time — especially when you’re the teenage bitch. It’ll be their goddamn crack!
Be sure to have sleepovers with these girls. Sometimes, invite a sixth random so people think that they may one day be blessed enough to be that sixth random who gets to have a sleepover with your goddess group. This will ensure daily smiles, compliments, and favors from the other puppy dogs roaming the halls, desperate to be near you, to be you. At these sleepovers, play the Ouiji Board and make it speak ethereal truths for your sole benefit. Just like Light as a Feather, you’ll be that girl with this otherworldly power. It will take your popularity status from the “it girl” to the “goddess girl.” You’re so goddamn amazing that you’re above human form. You’re unattainable, yet everyone will try even harder to be you — a seriously twisted truth. People. Are. Dumb. People want to be led by other people. Memorize these words of wisdom.
Okay, don’t forget the Zima. What’s a party among 13-year-olds without a little light booze? Make sure everyone drinks more than you — composure is a must for popularity. How else will you remember to take blackmailing videos and pictures of people at their worst when you need leverage one day? How else can you spread rumors in school about Jane’s Days of the Week underwear collection? I mean, that was SO seven years ago!
Make sure one of the girls in the posse is loaded; by that, I mean super-rich. Be sure to have sleepovers at her parents’ house. You must also hang with her by yourself, ensuring that she is your ultimate bestie. Steal her mom’s Virginia Slims and invite the rich, not popular, but moody and mysterious neighbor boy to meet you at your friend’s private backyard beach when her parents go to sleep. He will teach you how to smoke that skinny little bitch — no, not you! The cigarette, stupid! Keep up! I can only teach you so much if you’re that incredibly dumb! This moody and mysterious neighbor boy will tell you to inhale and then pretend you are about to get caught by your parents, so quickly get startled and breathe in while saying, “Mom’s home!” This is how he’ll get you to accomplish the perfect inhale. Next, he’ll bust out his perfectly rolled joint because he’s so much cooler than those jocks your posse of minions are swooning over to date. You know you’ll achieve real popularity when you break out of that mold and secretly yet outwardly mess around with the slightly older, leather jacket-wearing man of mystery. Again, unattainable. People will be drooling over your sexy and cool, badass, unimaginably impressive goddess self. “How does she DO IT?!” You’ll never tell.
Once high school arrives, you’ll be the bitch who secretly hangs with the stoners and choir nerds, ripping bongs filled with Gatorade (because it smells better than bong water when it spills) in your friend’s shitty car while blasting the soundtrack to Disney’s Aladdin, and singing in 3-part harmony. Why? Because you have to be real for yourself, for your sanity at some point, and this is a great way to let it out. This is your best-kept secret. Also, having a secret makes you more mysterious. Everyone can tell you have one, but no one will know what it is. Solid!
Bring a bottle of Schnapps to your fake jock boyfriend’s house party so the boys can be dumb and do keg stands, but you and your ladies can be classy with your shots of Schnapps — right from the bottle. Take a moment when everyone is wasted to escape, meet a mysterious neighbor boy down the street, give him your best bedroom eyes, and have a hot and heavy make-out session. Remember, be sure to have loads of ammunition in the form of pictures and videos from people at the party in case you get caught. Just like our middle school lesson from earlier. Blackmail is a must!
Attend parties and post them on social media. People will be SO flattered that you posted their very own party on your very own social media platforms that the groveling may turn into favors like math homework, etc. Next, talk shit about Judy’s sloppy drinking and sobbing at last night’s party. Like, why was she even there? People will simultaneously laugh and join in, yet shit themselves in fear that their actions may be your next verbal tongue thrashing to drip down those already sweaty high school walls. I think it is worth repeating that “fear” is one of your biggest weapons, and you need an arsenal of shit like this to ensure your popularity and status never wane.
At next week’s party, you allow yourself to act a little bit drunker than usual, flirt with everyone — girls and guys since they are all obsessed with you, and shout, “I’m Sabrina! Your goddamn teenage bitch!” And, everyone will scream and cheer in wasted camaraderie, down shots of Schnapps, place the Burger King crown that was on the beer-soaked countertop atop your perfect candy-smelling hair, and the jocks will pick you up and carry you around on their shoulders. “Sabrina! Sabrina!” etc. Everyone will chant. You’ll gaze down at all of the dumbasses below, literally looking up to you, wishing to be you, and know that you’ve made it. You’ll be on a high and not the weed kind. You then go home, open your acceptance letters to Princeton and Yale, and while laughing in embarrassment for all of humankind, say, “I’m Sabrina, the goddamn goddess teenage bitch, you dumb fuckers!”
