As if I've been raped
I drink generic brand soda because I can fill my tubby little gullet with three times as much sugar for the same price. It all tastes like crap, but I don't care, it's the quantity that counts...
-Anonymous, notproud.com
Today I had to take a test for two classes... in the testing center of all places. The entrance is like the main admittance gate in OZ federal prison from HBO, the DMV felt more cuddly that this hell hole. You have to walk up this barricaded flight of stairs and there are honor code (read: brain disease) reminder signs that look like danger ahead notices as if you were walking into an unstable coal mine in West Virginia with flammable gases saturating in the air. Once you walk in there are roped aisles in which you get your test; the main desk looks like a mismanaged post office. Then there are terrible people behind the counter who give you the test and tell you to go to hell for having a wrinkle in your shirt, and then sell you to Filipino pirates who will feed you to gorillas in public in downtown Manila for reasons too strange to explain. This one terrible person nailed me for side burns, I think she said something to the effect of:
"We are enforcing the dress code in the testing center and your sideburns are below your ears. As you can see on that sign over there, sideburns are to be no lower than your ears. Ferdinand over there in the office will now feed you to a gorilla with a blue ass in downtown Manila."
I smiled and said "burn in hell" as politely as I could in my head. Then you have to go through metal detectors and into a large room that you would find in CHS. Before the whore on patrol screamed at me I scurried to the nearest desk and started. It felt like a Nazi shoe factory, and we were the jews. The worst part is that there was always someone walking up and down the aisles of desks like the gestapo repeatedly, scanning your face and your clothes and cursing you in horrible ways for not having a defined part in your hair. This one guy in a pink tie would stride down the aisles, I wanted to jab my pencil in his testicle every time he past me. I hated it so much there. This place is not a school, it is a prison, like a political re-education camp in Cambodia where the piles of skulls only grow larger. I felt like a total sold out prostitute when I walked in there. I almost cried. When I get home, I am not going to shave for two weeks straight and then mail a picture of myself and all of us to the testing center. EJ and I will look like U-boat captains, Katie will be herself, Wendy will have a martini in her hand and Robyn will be dressed like Magenta from Rocky Horror. I love you all so much.
-Anonymous, notproud.com
Today I had to take a test for two classes... in the testing center of all places. The entrance is like the main admittance gate in OZ federal prison from HBO, the DMV felt more cuddly that this hell hole. You have to walk up this barricaded flight of stairs and there are honor code (read: brain disease) reminder signs that look like danger ahead notices as if you were walking into an unstable coal mine in West Virginia with flammable gases saturating in the air. Once you walk in there are roped aisles in which you get your test; the main desk looks like a mismanaged post office. Then there are terrible people behind the counter who give you the test and tell you to go to hell for having a wrinkle in your shirt, and then sell you to Filipino pirates who will feed you to gorillas in public in downtown Manila for reasons too strange to explain. This one terrible person nailed me for side burns, I think she said something to the effect of:
"We are enforcing the dress code in the testing center and your sideburns are below your ears. As you can see on that sign over there, sideburns are to be no lower than your ears. Ferdinand over there in the office will now feed you to a gorilla with a blue ass in downtown Manila."
I smiled and said "burn in hell" as politely as I could in my head. Then you have to go through metal detectors and into a large room that you would find in CHS. Before the whore on patrol screamed at me I scurried to the nearest desk and started. It felt like a Nazi shoe factory, and we were the jews. The worst part is that there was always someone walking up and down the aisles of desks like the gestapo repeatedly, scanning your face and your clothes and cursing you in horrible ways for not having a defined part in your hair. This one guy in a pink tie would stride down the aisles, I wanted to jab my pencil in his testicle every time he past me. I hated it so much there. This place is not a school, it is a prison, like a political re-education camp in Cambodia where the piles of skulls only grow larger. I felt like a total sold out prostitute when I walked in there. I almost cried. When I get home, I am not going to shave for two weeks straight and then mail a picture of myself and all of us to the testing center. EJ and I will look like U-boat captains, Katie will be herself, Wendy will have a martini in her hand and Robyn will be dressed like Magenta from Rocky Horror. I love you all so much.