I Walked Down To The Pond To Take Pictures And Noticed A 'For Sale' Sign On The Lot.
So it's been some time since my last post. That's alright, though. This journal serves another purpose, that elongated stretches of time between posts contributes to. It serves the function of making the months go faster. Until summer, until school's out. Until it's warm. It makes the days seem quicker, which is fortunate, because sometimes the semester drags ass until I'd rather chug drain cleaner than spend another fucking second in a classroom or another word on a fucking paper.
Which is what I should be doing now, actually. I have two papers; one on late Russian imperialism and the Bolshevik revolution, and one on multi-cultural education, with special emphasis on educating African-American students. Which, to me, seems racist in and of itself. I mean, this class (which blows all kinds of suck-tastic) emphasizes so heavily the evils of discrimination in modern society. However, then they go and act as if African-American students are some kind of wild animals that we plucked out of the forest, placed in the school system, and are forced to educate to the best of our ability. Apparently, the 'white man's school' is a little too much for a poor, wide-eyed black student to handle. So you have to develop different methods of teaching if you want any kind of success. It's the 'White Man's Burden' all over again. Fucking ridiculous. A true non-racist is gonna look at a class like this and be like 'what the fuck? Who cares, man. A person's a person, and no one should receive any special treatment, regardless of the color of their skin.' I know that if I were a black student, and my teacher started talking about integrating rap music into a class on Shakespeare so a black student could grasp it more easily (seriously), I'd be ready to bust out Shaq-Fu all over her fucking world. Whatever, though. Keep offering scholarships to minorities and having shit like 'BET' and 'Ebony' magazine while simultaneously spewing out bullshit about the white man having the upperhand. I fucking hate people.
Anyway, yeah. Instead of writing that shit, I'm sitting here playing Monkey Island, eating Jello Cheesecake, and playing with my balls (no surprise). I've developed a whole new branch of incompetence and procrastination the likes of which no slacker has ever achieved. Ownage.
And now it's time for.. Most Interesting Conversations Of The Week!
Me: So did you hear Adam's going to Iraq. Pretty crazy, huh?
B.A.: Didn't he have like.. I don't know. Some kind of hip problem? You can't go if you have a problem like that.
Me: What? Bugher didn't have a hip problem. You're retarded.
B.A.: Yeah, he did! Because, remember that one time in class, when Joel busted him in the hip with a broom? And he was all like, holding his hip and bitching at Joel.
Me: ..what? Just because he reacted to getting cracked in the hip with a broom, doesn't mean he had a hip problem. If someone shot me in the heart and I died, it wouldn't be because I had a pre-existing heart condition. It would be because someone shot me in the fucking heart. You're a dumbass.
The next one wasn't exactly a conversation, but it was quite horrific. We all hit up Pizza Hut the other night, courtesy of Jeff Reed, and I had to go to the bathroom. Well, when I get there, I see that the hallway to the bathrooms is being blocked by some enormous woman with a walker. So I had to squeeze behind her ass, because she seriously wouldn't move. There was a little boy with her. As soon as I got past her, she turned herself to face me, and in doing so, completely blocked off any exit from the hallway with her obesity and handicap.
Me: Um. How's it going?
Lady: I told this little boy he could go next. You're gonna have to wait.
Me: Oh. Um. That's-that's fine. I'll wait.
Lady: Where did you get those shoes? -Referring to my illegaly-procured bowling shoes-
Me: My friend got them for me.
Lady: They're bowling shoes. I think you stole them.
Me: No, there's a place that sells.. b-bowling shoes.
At this point, she starts to breathe heavily, and stare at me. I use the verb 'breathe' loosely, because I don't know what was going on inside her body. She sounded like she was dying. It was kind of a sucking-in, gasping, hedgehog in the throat kind of breathing. I thought she was dying standing up. Then, there's no fucking way I was getting out of the bathroom hallway unless I pole-vaulted over her head. She seriously did this for like.. three minutes. By that point, the urine was scared back into my bladder, and I did my best to shuffle past her and re-seat myself.
Warning! Shameless advertising and friendship plugs - avert eyes if sensitive to capitalist and social ploys!
Go see Oliver's play, fuckers. Cheating Cheaters -or- Oliver is a Faggot.
Check out Grant Gilman music, bitches. Grant's My Bitch, and I'll Cut a Bitch.
You know, in hindsight. I should have gotten that bitch with the walker's number. That breathing, man. I bet she's a screamer. Sigh. I guess I'll never know, now.
Which is what I should be doing now, actually. I have two papers; one on late Russian imperialism and the Bolshevik revolution, and one on multi-cultural education, with special emphasis on educating African-American students. Which, to me, seems racist in and of itself. I mean, this class (which blows all kinds of suck-tastic) emphasizes so heavily the evils of discrimination in modern society. However, then they go and act as if African-American students are some kind of wild animals that we plucked out of the forest, placed in the school system, and are forced to educate to the best of our ability. Apparently, the 'white man's school' is a little too much for a poor, wide-eyed black student to handle. So you have to develop different methods of teaching if you want any kind of success. It's the 'White Man's Burden' all over again. Fucking ridiculous. A true non-racist is gonna look at a class like this and be like 'what the fuck? Who cares, man. A person's a person, and no one should receive any special treatment, regardless of the color of their skin.' I know that if I were a black student, and my teacher started talking about integrating rap music into a class on Shakespeare so a black student could grasp it more easily (seriously), I'd be ready to bust out Shaq-Fu all over her fucking world. Whatever, though. Keep offering scholarships to minorities and having shit like 'BET' and 'Ebony' magazine while simultaneously spewing out bullshit about the white man having the upperhand. I fucking hate people.
Anyway, yeah. Instead of writing that shit, I'm sitting here playing Monkey Island, eating Jello Cheesecake, and playing with my balls (no surprise). I've developed a whole new branch of incompetence and procrastination the likes of which no slacker has ever achieved. Ownage.
And now it's time for.. Most Interesting Conversations Of The Week!
Me: So did you hear Adam's going to Iraq. Pretty crazy, huh?
B.A.: Didn't he have like.. I don't know. Some kind of hip problem? You can't go if you have a problem like that.
Me: What? Bugher didn't have a hip problem. You're retarded.
B.A.: Yeah, he did! Because, remember that one time in class, when Joel busted him in the hip with a broom? And he was all like, holding his hip and bitching at Joel.
Me: ..what? Just because he reacted to getting cracked in the hip with a broom, doesn't mean he had a hip problem. If someone shot me in the heart and I died, it wouldn't be because I had a pre-existing heart condition. It would be because someone shot me in the fucking heart. You're a dumbass.
The next one wasn't exactly a conversation, but it was quite horrific. We all hit up Pizza Hut the other night, courtesy of Jeff Reed, and I had to go to the bathroom. Well, when I get there, I see that the hallway to the bathrooms is being blocked by some enormous woman with a walker. So I had to squeeze behind her ass, because she seriously wouldn't move. There was a little boy with her. As soon as I got past her, she turned herself to face me, and in doing so, completely blocked off any exit from the hallway with her obesity and handicap.
Me: Um. How's it going?
Lady: I told this little boy he could go next. You're gonna have to wait.
Me: Oh. Um. That's-that's fine. I'll wait.
Lady: Where did you get those shoes? -Referring to my illegaly-procured bowling shoes-
Me: My friend got them for me.
Lady: They're bowling shoes. I think you stole them.
Me: No, there's a place that sells.. b-bowling shoes.
At this point, she starts to breathe heavily, and stare at me. I use the verb 'breathe' loosely, because I don't know what was going on inside her body. She sounded like she was dying. It was kind of a sucking-in, gasping, hedgehog in the throat kind of breathing. I thought she was dying standing up. Then, there's no fucking way I was getting out of the bathroom hallway unless I pole-vaulted over her head. She seriously did this for like.. three minutes. By that point, the urine was scared back into my bladder, and I did my best to shuffle past her and re-seat myself.
Warning! Shameless advertising and friendship plugs - avert eyes if sensitive to capitalist and social ploys!
Go see Oliver's play, fuckers. Cheating Cheaters -or- Oliver is a Faggot.
Check out Grant Gilman music, bitches. Grant's My Bitch, and I'll Cut a Bitch.
You know, in hindsight. I should have gotten that bitch with the walker's number. That breathing, man. I bet she's a screamer. Sigh. I guess I'll never know, now.