>>> The Lady's Shave
By staff writer NG Hatfield
October 25, 2006

This letter is dedicated to a buddy who has chosen to be left unidentified. He’s likes guitar, is a student of
Florida University and is afraid that repercussions may fall upon him if I mention his name. He is unaware that nobody reads this shit.

Me: Are mentally retarded people allowed to roam your campus?
Him: No… they’re in the Dean’s office.

My Dear Fellow Students of WVU,

I’m fucking angry. And you should be too. If you don’t understand why, that’s cool. My intentions in writing this letter are pretty obvious and you’ll understand why soon enough.

I’m writing a call to arms, you see. It could, and maybe should, be called a Cleveland Steamer on the face of inaction. Or, perhaps even a letter bent on forcing the bitter taste of ass juice (a.k.a. reality) in the mouths of the apathetic.

“WVU is a big party campus. But most people don’t realize why we Mountaineers drink: alcohol offers hope.”

It is Maximus’ pissed-off battle cry. It is Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech. It is a poison that cures, and should be welcomed as a curbstomp on the jowls of this college’s halfhearted, WEAK-DICK administration.

Now that we’ve lost Jabba the Dean, and the interim president is about as vocal as a mute’s cadaver, I’d like say what I think about this university. I’m not like the Daily Athenaeum (the school newspaper), and won’t put the balls of the Provost in my mouth and say “mm-mmm ME LIKEY.” I don’t like to lie, for one. And two, according to his wife, the Provost’s balls are hairless and taste of Gold Bond.

But before I tell you what we’re all gonna be hollerin’ about, I should say one thing: I love this college and believe that you should too. I love partying on High Street. I love burning couches on Grant. I love watching our beloved Mountaineers kick the shit out of other Big East teams on Saturday. (I’m lookin’ at YOU, Louisville). I love all the students, from Jersey or not. I love all the teachers, from Azerbaijan or not. I love the beer pong, the beer bongs, the ice cube tray races, the kegstands, the drinking games and the other various ingenious ways of imbibing alcohol. Hell, I even sometimes like going to class.

But you know what I don’t love? I don’t love the old president. Let’s discuss him, shall we?

Well, for one, he’s a fat fuck. If his lazy ass did anything other than sit on alumni dick, the problems that are happening all around campus wouldn’t be nearly as bad as they are now.

Two, I don’t like his face. I find it unappealing and too much like an alcoholic uncle who comes to family parties with a coke whore.

There. That’s one thing.

The second thing I dislike is one of the main reasons for writing this letter: Charlie the Motherfucking Retard.

You may be asking, “Who is Charlie the Motherfucking Retard, Nick?” Well, you might not know him by name (I sure as hell don’t), but you probably know exactly who I’m talking about. He’s the squatty black guy with coke-bottled glasses who sits outside the Mountainlair and hits on girls.

Charlie the Motherfucking Retard might appear harmless to some; after all, his body language is pretty similar to a drunken chimpanzee, and drunken chimps are pretty goddamned entertaining. However, don’t be fooled by this fucker’s incapacity to think. He is a danger to campus. The way he hits on girls proves this to me.

If you’ve never had the pleasure to see him hit on a girl, or be hit on yourself by him, here’s how his shit goes down:

1. Charlie the Motherfucking Retard introduces himself (not as Charlie the Motherfucking Retard, but by his real name).
2. Girl acts very disinterested in Charlie the Motherfucking Retard (he is a fucking retard, after all).
3. Charlie the Motherfucking Retard licks hand quickly, like ninja.
4. Charlie the Motherfucking Retard offers hand to shake.
5. Girl shakes hand, acts even more disinterested.
6. Girl realizes hand is wet.
7. Girl wipes hand, doesn’t always realize that wetness is due to saliva.
8. Charlie the Motherfucking Retard gets a boner. (This action leads me to believe that before his brain caved in on itself, Charlie was a sexual predator.)
9. Charlie asks for number.
10. Girl says, “I don’t have a pen.”
11. Charlie pulls a pen out and Girl is left to write a number. (The Motherfucking Retard is also the Motherfucking Boy Scout.)
12. Girl gives number. Fake number.
13. Charlie continues to talk.
14. Girl makes excuse to leave.
15. Charlie continues to talk.
16. Stranger walks by with dog.
17. Charlie sticks finger up dog’s asshole quickly, like ninja.
18. Charlie offers girl finger of caked dog shit/dog blood.
19. Girl runs off.
20. Charlie yells stereotypical African American movie saying at girl. (Charlie has seen the following movies: Shaft, American History X, How Stella Got Her Groove Back, Pootytang, Soul Plane, Barbershop 1 and 2, How High, and every Spike Lee Joint you can think of.)
21. Dog owner comforts dog, who feels violated on so many levels.

I feel like telling Charlie a few things. One, I’d tell him “Don’t be nice to girls, it doesn’t work.” Two, “If you’re going to pick a stereotypical black guy to imitate, be Samuel L. Jackson. I mean, at least amuse us white kids once in awhile.”

But yeah, why the hell haven’t the campus police done anything about this guy? He’s an unstable mentally-challenged man who just wanders around campus harassing students. Do they just not care? I’d say that’s pretty goddamned likely.

I should note that another mentally handicapped person named Homer frequents campus, but all he does is throw out a sombrero and ask, “Ab any chain?” when you’re walking home from a bar. I’ve heard from multiple, credible sources that he gives most of his money to the church. As long as it’s not the Mormons or the Lutherans, I could care less about what Homer does. I mean, on some level, we do have to accept some retards. Lord knows we all accepted “Star” center Kevin Pittsnogle with open arms—and I know jars of mayonnaise with more to say than that stupid, lanky bastard. Hey, I wonder where he is now?! (Trailer park.)

(Note: Pittsnogle pushed me in a club once and I was kicked out. I hope his baby gets Downs Syndrome.)

So what do I want you to do now?

For one, girls, when Charlie the Motherfucking Retard asks you for your number, please give him the number for the Campus Police at (304) 293-2677. I have a feeling that the motherfuckers over there will finally get off their donut-eating incompetent asses and do something about it if they get enough calls from a guy who says, “I’m a bad mamma-jamma!”

Guys, if you see his fat, retarded ass waddling on the side streets of Morgantown, run him over. Send him to Retard Heaven, where all retards roam free and lick the hands of angels.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot…

As for you potential WVU students,

If you’re considering attending WVU in the fall, don’t. Don’t waste your time. Don’t waste your money. If you want to have sex with me, that’s cool. Just come over. I’ll feed you.

I just feel, as a senior, I’m obligated to warn you that, despite what your Mountaineer Guide tells you, shit actually happens on this campus. Yes, SHIT happens in life, but you generally don’t pay $6,000 a year for life to shit on you, let alone in your mouth. And even worse, the guides know better than what they tell you, but because the dean’s secretaries shove horsepill Prozacs up their asses before they make the rounds, they really aren’t capable of giving you any sort of educated information.

But, no fear, I’m going to break it down for you.

I’ve seen a guy get stabbed over a goddamned snowball fight on Beechurst. I know of at least ten girls who have been sexually assaulted or raped. The PRT (our Public Transportation system) breaks down at least once a goddamned day and the mandatory attendance policy in most of your classes fucks you over when that does break down. The Campus Police give you shit for no reason. The steps suck. The bureaucracy is suffocating and even the prices on pepperoni rolls keep going up.

They say WVU is a big party campus; and granted, it is. But most people don’t realize why we Mountaineers drink: alcohol offers hope on this hopeless campus. Plus, we gotta get the taste of shit out of our mouths.

“That’s life,” some say. But I just want you all to realize that those some are just too damned stupid to realize that it’s not LIFE, it’s just plain old fucked up.

To conclude, I’d like to know what y’all think, by email or in the feedback box. Also, if you agree with at least one of the sentiments expressed here, pass it along to your fellow Mountaineers.

Don’t give the rimjob. Get the rimjob.

Take me home, country roads,
Nicholas Anthony Gaudio
[email protected]
Senior, English