Monday, August 1, 2011

The Class

Columbia blows. The girls look like chewed up lunch meat, the guys aren't sophisticated enough for my advanced sense of humor and these professors expect me to sit through hour and a half long lectures without packing a lip. Are you fucking kidding me? I'd rather be in Auschwitz doing whatever it is they had to do there. With a full supply of lippers of course... Otherwise it would probably be a toss-up.

One day, while sitting in my History of Contemporary Art course (might as well be called Intro to Blowing Your Mind...With a Gun), my anxiety overwhelmed me. I felt trapped in my fully cushioned chair that might as well have been made out of a bed of rusty nails. I couldn't endure another minute, after only a minute in.

So I farted. And though the grimacing faces of the people sitting around me kept me mildly amused for a few moments, it was not enough. First of all, the gas that passed out my ass was a weakling (a low blow for my self-esteem) and second, there was still a dreadful amount of time left in class. Needless to say, I had to tap into my reserves.

I reached into my poop colored backpack for the bag of peppers, pulling out a jalapeno and three habaneros. Putting on my most brave face, I downed that shit in one gulp like a Kenyan being introduced to water. The effects were immediate-sweats and a burning sensation were present both inside and out of my body. I could feel the heat coarse down my esophagus into the innards of my gut, rounding up every missed bit of poo-to-be and transporting it into my colon. Upon its arrival into the most prized of organs, I got up and swaggered to the front of the room, feigning a bathroom break. Well, not exactly... I just didn't use a toilet.

As Professor Cockmunch paused to chuckle at his shitty art joke, I stopped in front of him and pulled down my trousers to paint his face brown. He staggered backwards, then tripped over the front side of his desk, eventually falling to the other side, body sprawled on the floor and chair in disarray. But before he could comprehend the situation, I walked over to the blackboard and in white chalk boldly wrote "All Art is Shitty". With my work just about complete, I put down the chalk, and slowly turned around to gaze at all the jaws that had just dropped to the floor. And as Cockmunch slowly brought himself to his feet, I walked out of the room with my hands silently telling everyone to go fuck themselves.

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