Sports addict doesn't even cut it. These guys are obsessed about the way they look, probably due to some sort of teasing, way back then. They are machines of the athletic world, and I doubt any of them leave the house without a mirror on their person. They, like the Elites, love themselves way too much. Though they may be similar to the Elites, in the looks department, the two cliques hate each other. Between them, it is a constant battle to prove who is best.

Babble babble, bitch bitch, sex sex, party pary. They're out of control and they know it. No matter how far out of civilization they are, they are always able to get their hands on the drugs that they so badly crave. You better not get in their way, they seriously don't care what happens to you in the cross fire. They are loud, obnoxious, they swear like sailors and they drink like fish. Most of them sport a few good tattoos and a piercing here and there. These are the kind of people that your mother warned you about. If I were you, I'd either leave them well alone, or join them. There is no in between.

Typical Bob and Sue's. They have an average life, an average job. They don't part like rockstars, and they don't gym like it's going out of fashion. They are probably the only normal clique that Stanford has ever seen. They have a sense of personal hygeine, but they don't overdo it like the Elites. They don't have tattoos and piercings riddling their bodies like the freaks and the rebels. They don't fit in with the archetypes, and thus, the rest of the word deems them standards. God bless normality.

They are perfect, they know it, and they like to think everyone else knows it too. They are socially able, blessed with great looks and usually wealthy too. The blood in their veins runs blue. ALl of them may seem like clones, but who knows, maybe one day they will be individuals again. A lot like the jocks, their best friend is a mirror, and goddam, they love themselves. Even though that may be true, their eternal war that was waged many years ago is still going strong. The elites hate the jocks almost as much as they hate the rebels. Is it that much to ask? They can't seem to understand why the jocks keep fighting them when it is so 'obvious' that they are the best, and they always will be.

Some hate them, some rate them, but one thing is for sure; there is no place without them. So what if they're weird and have strange obsessions with the words brown and banana? You gotta love them. Some have multi-colored hair, some collect forks, some have imaginary friends. And then there are the most common type of freak; the undercover basket case. On the outside, they appear normal and calm and collected, but when you get to see their real side, you'll find the inner freak. It's up to you what happens next. If you stay or if you run very fast, I don't think they'll care, either way.

There is no explaining these people. They don't fit in to any of the other cliques, and hell they are an interesting bunch. There's never a dull moment when you're guessing who's who. And trust me, it is saying something when you are rejected by the freaks, but you're too different to be a standard human being. I'd wouldn't be surprised if these guys have major identity issues. I know I would!

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