>>> Text-Heavy
By staff writer E.E. Southerby
Volume 25 – March 30, 2003
The year's almost over. It's just as well, since we're all pretty well sick of school and each other, and are eager to go home to live with our parents for 4 months while partaking in demeaning summer work. As the semester comes to a close, I've learned some valuable lessons. I've learned who my real friends are (nobody) and who secretly hates me (everybody). Also, I know who never to lend beer to, and who will hook up with me as a last resort. The prehistoric laundry machines taught me to clean my own clothes, but the cafeteria ensured that I will never be able to cook. Here's what happened this week:
-You know what I hate? When the professor tells you that he's going to let you out of class early, and then right before he's about to, some annoying dork at the front of the class raises his hand and asks a really complicated question that requires a long response so you end up staying the whole time. I also hate girls who dress like skanks at the bar even though they're not interested in hooking up with anyone. Jailbait cock-teasers.
-Our residence building has no solidarity. We were supposed to have a building dinner as one final get-together before the year's out. There are a hundred people in our building. Less than 10 showed up. There's no excuse for this, except maybe that they were stuck in class because of that one really annoying kid.
-A friend of mine wanted to bake a cake for her boyfriend's birthday, so she went out and got cake mix from the grocery store. Cake doesn't come from a box, I said, it comes from a few hours of blood, sweat and tears. Or a bakery. She didn't listen. I don't know how her boyfriend is going to feel about going out with someone who doesn't know how to bake. Not that I blame her, really. In my family, the men bake the cakes and the women have the babies.
-I don't smoke. A lot of people smoke because they think it makes them attractive and cool. A friend of mine wanted to quit smoking. I told him to acknowledge that he is neither attractive nor cool. It didn't work. I told him to try getting thrown in jail, where cigarettes can only be obtained in exchange for humiliating sexual favors. It's a good thing he never did quit. Just hanging around him raises my second-hand popularity level a couple of notches. Besides, he can teach himself a valuable lesson by slowly dying of lung cancer.
-The College Activists have set up a ‘Peace Village' on campus, where they camp out in tents and hold candlelight vigils and have bake sales to stop the War in Iraq. I walk by these clowns every day and point and laugh, and they don't seem to mind. These people are just a couple of short steps away from handing out leaflets at the airport. I wonder, though: Don't these idiots ever have class? What do they do, exactly, that permits them to sit around in tents all day and hold up proclamations of peace? Also, how is it that they can put a man on the moon but they have yet to create an attractive College Activist?
-Whenever I want to mix drinks in my room, the only thing I can ever find to do it with is a pen or a toothbrush. Not that it doesn't work, it's just that it would probably be more hygienic to get some random dirty kid to mix my drink with his toes.
-I believe we've run out of things to do. We're getting desperate. The other day some friends decided to bake adult brownies. That's right, instead of drinking, or partying, or trying to hook up, a bunch of guys spent the evening in a kitchen baking. And it's not the fact that there were drugs in the brownies that really got to me. It's that they used an instant brownie mix, and it still took 4 hours.
-The prank wars are on. People are trashing each other's rooms, covering them with shaving cream and dumping water on the carpet, and then saying it's all in good fun. That's ok, though. I never liked my damage deposit, anyway. Maybe if someone helps clean my room I'll give them back those pictures I took of them in the shower. Maybe.
-Quote of the Moment: Occasionally, I say things that make so little sense even I have no idea what I was thinking. On our way to visit a ‘haunted' castle after dark, I said: “It's haunted by the white Honda Civic in the driveway.” Then I collapsed on the floor in a fit of laughter. If anyone can guess what the hell I was talking about, please let me know. Brownies were not a factor.