Can a man get some fucking peace? In an era where beer has rifling and you can piss on your phone to find out if you have an STD, there is usually no respite from the loudmouthed, drunk, diseased jackasses of the world. One would think, though that a library or computer lab would be a healthy, safe place you don't have to worry about getting the fear. Not at CCAC, and it's probably overly optimistic to hope that Pitt will be like that when I start taking the 54c in the opposite direction in the fall. Before i start to sound like that old cantankerous fool at the end of 60 minutes though, let me tell you what I would to be done to these morons an inch away from second base next to me:
The male should have a railroad spike pushed up one of his nostrils ever so slowly while someone kneels on his chest, and then, while being forced to watch his ass-ugly girlfriend's tits being cut off the spike should be yanked out at a sharp angle, but not before his eyelids are glued open so wincing is not even an option.
Downstairs in the entry to the library building they're handing out rubbers like sars masks during a pandemic. This is a good thing I suppose, but there was no need for them to assault me on my way in the door. I've got my headphones on for a reason, and its not just to listen to music.
There was one welcome guest in my morning though, my old anthropology teacher in the hall staring disdainfully at a massive poster for "Crossseekers," some kind of evangelical bible study group. He said to me "What is this bullshit?"
"The Office of Student Life told me they basically can't say no to anything anymore."
"CrossSEEKERS though? What does that even mean?"
"They haven't found it yet," I said. "They're still looking"
May those obnoxious bastards seek forever and never find, staying the hell out of my way.