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Ferris Bueller's Biggest Mistakes

Ferris Bueller's Biggest Mistakes
Ryan Boyd

Being a plucky, charming teen in 1980s Chicagoland sounds like a bowl of cherries. Your parents are as observant as a basket of blind kittens, your principal's efforts to make you repeat your senior year are constantly stymied, and your best friend doesn't suplex you through a coffee table no matter how consistently you ruin his life. Consequences don't exist! Yours is a life charmed by trickster gods, and your very existence will be used as evidence of humanity's crimes in an alien tribunal!

Occasionally, though, you will make mistakes, and they will catch up with you. You have perched countless ice buckets above the doorframes of your life, and it will be a freezy day indeed when you drop your guard, Ferris Bueller. You can't hack into the MS Dos database of karma itself and undo your failings. Here's the highlight reel of your biggest mistakes.

Leaving Principal Rooney Alive

Mr. Rooney is a haunted man. The best day of your life, with the parade floats and the makeouts with Mia Sara, was the genesis of his villainous backstory. When he's sitting on the school bus next to the weird kid with the pocketful of gummi bears and "Oh Yeah" by Yello is thrumming in the background, he's plotting sweet vengeance. He's the Javert to your Jean Valjean, and he will hunt you down, even unto the cellars of hell. Principal Rooney can't be bargained with. He can't be reasoned with. He doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And he absolutely will not stop, ever, until you repeat your senior year.

Not Compiling Blackmail on Jeannie

If anybody knows where all the bodies are buried, it's the formidable Jeannie Bueller. This pastel nightmare has been the only one savvy enough to see through your nonsense, and yeah, she may have come around to your side at the end out of sibling fondness, but she is waiting, like a spider. As she told Charlie Sheen at the police station, she's watched you get away with murder your whole life. She has grown a bumper crop of resentments, and come harvest time, she will...drown you with...fruit, and this metaphor fell apart at the end -- much like you're gonna fall apart once Jeannie decides to bring her knowledge of your sins to bear. The only sensible option is mutually assured destruction, and you could have spent your time categorizing the skeletons in Jeannie's walk-in closet, but nope, you thought it would be a better idea to spend time learning how not to play the clarinet. For God's sake, Ferris.

You Don't Understand Cars at All

"Drive the car in reverse to take miles off the odometer"? You're willing to steal a car with your friend, turn the Chicago suburbs into a cracked game of Mario Kart, leave the Ferrari in the hands of evil goblins, and prop a car with madly spinning wheels up on one flimsy tire jack? Any decision you make involving cars should be banned by the Geneva Conventions. When you said "A man with priorities that far out of whack doesn't deserve such a fine automobile" about Cameron's father, you were talking about yourself, Ferris. Your parents giving you a computer instead of a car was the most astute thing they ever did, because perhaps they could sense somewhere deep down that you are a murderer. A murderer of cars.

Pretending to Be Sloan's Father and then Making Out With Her

Gross. That's gross, Ferris. Jesus Christ.

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