Friday, July 22, 2011

The Interview

Even though I'm the most intelligent human being on the planet, bitch ma is incessantly insisting I attend college. Though I'm able to cast off her first few requests with a despondent "fuck you" or a condescending "Ya I'll go to college! Right after I pork a pig on the moon", the mild annoyance turns into an itch between the shoulder blades; one that I am unable to scratch.

To exact revenge, I decide I have to get a bit more creative by entertaining her request to fill her heart with joy, then crushing it by tarnishing the family name. No means no, ho. Since my father is on the board at Columbia, the only requirement for me to get in would be to nail the interview with the dean. And believe me, this is one interview he would never forget.

On judgment day I am more excited than a little boy whose been offered candy by a stranger driving an off-white minivan complete with fully tinted windows. Scratch that, I'm more excited than the fucking driver. Anyway, I awoke to the sunlight beaming through my windows in a mood that was uncharacteristically chipper. Especially pre-dingleberry. And I headed to my wardrobe to pick out the most dashing ensemble I could assemble.

I arrived a bit early to my destination, heading to the nearest restroom to produce a creation that would make John Crapper turn in his porcelain coffin. I concealed it tightly in a brown paper bag to mask the aroma and proceed to the room.

I opened the door slowly, taking in my surroundings. Wood-paneled floors evoked the scent of rich mahogany and walls covered with degrees evoked the stench of smugness. Though, I pretended to marvel at these pieces of paper by contorting my face in a look of awe.

"Impressive, isn't it?" he mutters with the most smug of expressions. "It certainly is sir. I hope I can achieve merely a fraction of what you have by the time I'm your age." I respond most pussily. He chuckled, and I feigned a smile as he called me over. As he reached out his hand, I walked over and very casually brought the dump filled bag into plain sight. "A present? For me?" The sucker remarked while I quickly flashed a conniving grin. "Oh yes. I made something very special. Just for you." But before he had a chance to say anything more, I whipped the bag across his face causing him to  fall to the floor with a thud, unconscious. I moseyed over to examine his poo covered face and stood over him, feeling like Tyson after he had his way with Holyfield. And to make sure he knew how much of an asshole I really am, I leaned over and whispered, "hope your day doesn't get any shittier." Then showed myself the door.

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