Monday, September 25, 2006

Someone Needs to Switch to Something - Anything - Decaffeinated

It is probably instructive to remember that these people were in high school three months ago, having recess, smoking crack behind the bleachers, begging Annie or Andy to go to the prom, distracted by Paris Hilton video tricks and YouTube gross-out humor.

But has nobody in their lives ever taught them about being adults, about being citizens, about living in a world where there might be people from different places, different states, people who don't think every piece of ignorant drivel that spills from their mouths is worthy of a little 3rd place ribbon and a photo in the high school newsletter?

  • Rich, you can start wearing pants to class. Pajamas are for church camp breakfast. And if I have to smell your unwashed body one more time when you come breezing in at 10:05, I'm going to mail you a bar of Irish Spring.
  • Patty, I'm pleased that you had that big meeting with Jesus last summer in Boca Raton, but if you can quit asking why Muslims hate you, why Muslims wear what they wear, why Mohammed had 97 wives, or why the "Shah" of Iran hates a good man like George Bush, I'll pay you one thousand of my own dollars. This is, after all, a computer course, not Geopolitical Christian Advancement.
  • Tori, I don't give a shit how beloved you were at Whatever High. Here at the college we have to actually turn work in. I don't know why your mom's visit to our fair city means you get a week off. Didn't you just see her last month when she and you "bought out all the furniture stores" to furnish your dorm room?
  • Nick, I would call you a meathead to your face, but I'm convinced you'd think you were suddenly in the cafeteria and would try to eat me - or at least order an extra helping.
  • Taryn, you think joking with me in class is a sign that we're equals. It's not. It means you're a little bitch who has had every opportunity, every gift, and you probably watch with pitched interest every "My Super Sweet 16" episode, wondering why their parties pale to the one you get every time you drop a turd or burp up that strawberry yogurt permanently attached to your hand. I am not your pal, or someone so easily charmed by your claims that my "Goodwill-store-chic" is just like your dear old "Gramps."

Other than that, the semester is going great.

Today's image is an edited version of somethign found at