growing up I had a simple dream, to be a writer. Then I found out that unless you are Stephen King, you can’t count on making a living that way. My new dream was to have people stop bothering me about what I was going to do with my life, so I went to college. College, where dreams can come to fruition in the form of unescapable debt, and less than satisfying social interactions. Yesterday I was in a conversation with a friend that made me realize that college means something different to everyone. This came to my attention when he mentioned that mentioned that college was for being bisexual. I thought it was about blowing all your money on laundry and textbooks.
The fact is, school matters about as much as the world decides that it does. I am pretty sure that I will not need to say the word “parallelogram,” again in my life, but I just paid hundreds of dollars and three hours of my life each week to learn about them. And yet, had I not, I would be promised nothing better out of life than a job at Macdonalds. It’s a silly notion. In order to make money, you need to put yourself in debt for the next twenty years.
Anyway, enjoy Finals,
College, The Bitter Irony
By Drake Mahoney
Remember grade school? Remember those mornings where you didn’t want to go to school, so you just didn’t? I don’t know about you, but when I was younger I self diagnosed myself with a whole slew of illnesses that I never had in an attempt to get out of going to class. And a great deal of the time it worked, not because my mother actually believed that I had leprosy, but because she didn’t have the energy to argue with me that I didn’t. To make things worse, if that is you consider skipping school to be a bad thing (pussy), I went to a private school. I know, I’m a bitch. I’ll even say it again….I’m a bitch. But as you probably know, private school costs a good deal more than a regular education (with none of the benefits) and because of that, my parents were literally paying for me not to have the bubonic plague. Every lie I told, every blood saturated cough that I faked, every class that I skipped cost my parents money, and until this morning I thought nothing of it. I hated school more than I could put words to. But you know what’s crazy? What’s really un fucking believable? I pay for it now. I pay thousands of dollars a year- dollars that I don’t have, to go to school, and I’m supposed to feel grateful that I am able to do it. It’s funny the things people say to make us feel better about it. Education is important. Education is important? I’ll keep that in mind when my future employer gets upset that I took to dissecting a bullfrog in the work place. Isn’t it crazy the things that they teach us? Biology, math, foreign language. Most motherfuckers I know say ‘merica, on regular bases. They don’t even know the name of our own country, which by the way is not America either. We are in fact the United States of America, a country that resides on the continent of America. Once they master the name of our country, perhaps they can branch out to a foreign language, but why would they possibly want to? To keep up with other countries? Fuck that shit. People always talk about how much of an emphasis Asian schools emphasize education, but never in that same breath do they mention how much taller we are than them. And yet I doubt very much that children in China start their days out with spinal elongation stretches in order to “keep up” with us. Let them be them and let me be me. You can only ever be yourself, and one thing that I do know about myself is that I will never be a student. I will never be someone with a desire to learn, the ability to properly study, or the self-deceptiveness to not be terminally depressed that I have to do those things anyway. Life is incredibly hard, made infinitesimally more so by fractions. And guess what? You’re paying for those fractions, and you’re lucky to have the opportunity to do so.
I, along with the rest of the school have heard that you were arrested for burning a bush on campus. If this is true, I think that it should have an effect on your status as an “advice columnist”. Why should I listen to a pothead arsonist? What qualifies you to solve my problems? Who are you to tell me what to do?
Frustrated with the System
To begin with, an arrest is not proof of guilt. Had you spent a little less time reading the newspaper and a little more time going to class, you might know that….but reading newspapers is good too. Yes I was arrested, but I am innocent until proven guilty, but you sir have proven yourself to be a cruel, narrow minded man. I did not mean to burn that bush down, and I should not lose my job for it….I mean I didn’t burn the bush down. Yeedin yip yip and shit.
ASK OTTO WEEK TWO
I am new to Dewmont, and to college in general, and I have that the differences between here and high school is quite severe. I am not used to the inconsistent schedules, nor am I used to being surrounded by strangers. I have found myself overwhelmed with work, and I am frequently tardy to classes because I have yet to figure out my schedule. Any advice that you could give me would be much appreciated,
Lost and Confused
I am sorry to hear that you are struggling. I experienced the same problem when I first arrived at Dewmont. It is crucial that you establish a routine if you are expecting to succeed. Here is what I do. Every morning I leave my house extra early, and get to the campus with plenty of time to spare. I like to get there early so that I can walk laps around the school. I find that it helps me unwind. During my first lap around the school, I always stop in the south quad to discuss politics with homeless albert (the a is intentionally lower case thank you very much). After that I like to skip my second lap and eat a burrito that I purchased at the gas station across the street. Then for third lap I stop again in the South Quad, but this time to catch up with car jacker Tony. He’s doing quite well. And then after that, I do one more lap, only stopping to smoke a quick bowl, and then it’s time for me to go home….I forgot to register for classes for this semester. Hope this helps
Yeedin yip yip and Shit,
Food In The Classroom
No food in the classroom? No food, in the CLASSROOM?! No. No food in Africa. No food in Syria (right?) No food (that I’ll eat) in the cafeteria. There is very clearly food in this classroom. Some of it is in my hand, some in my mouth, some in my stomach, and some soon to be shoved in your God damn face if you don’t back the fuck up. Ok…I’m sorry. Too much. I sense it, they felt it, and you noticed it just before you stopped reading.
You know what they say before they’re about to sell you shit that you don’t need and shouldn’t have; you aren’t you when you’re hungry. So yes, I got carried away, took things too far, and all around made an ass of myself. It happens to the best of us (see, anything Kanye West has done). But it’s an odd concept isn’t it? No food in the classroom? The classroom, is just a room. It’s like any other fucking room, only I hate being in this particular one about as much as I hate getting a tooth filled. The only difference is, I’ve never had a cavity, and this class shit happens all the time.
I’m not sure what the objection is. Somewhere right now there is a guy out there that is about to cook meth; I’m just trying to eat my banana in peace. If Justin Bieber can…exist with no reprocussions, why do I catch so much shit for needing a mid afternoon snack? Life is hard enough as it is without zeroing in on the little things, and I can’t think of a smaller thing than this. Maybe it’s time that the priorities of schools everywhere are reavaluated. I’m in class aren’t I? I’m not pregnant, I’m not high, shit I’m not even disruptive, I’m just a little hungry. It’s damn well time that that hunger is met with polite acceptance, or at the very least indifference.
I’m in college now. I pay for this class buissness. I pay. Me. With my non existant money. And for the price of that money, I expect to be able to eat wherever I damn well please. In a world where the government can stop, the last thing that anyone should ever say to me with their PHD diseased mouth is that I am not allowed to eat in a fucking classroom.
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It is with a heavy and wounded heart that I write this. My cat died just the other day, after fifteen years of faithfully keeping me company. He had suffered from cancer for a year before his passing. I miss him dearly, and cling to his memory. So my question to you is not how do I move on, or how might I properly replace him, but rather quite the opposite. How might I more permanently incorporate Mr. Schmarples into my life after his passing? Thanks for the free advice,
Grieves Over cats
Yeedin yip yip and shit motherfucker! Your letter angers me! I am allergic to cats. If I were you I would get a dog. They will die too, but they won’t be little bitches about it. Or you could take this as an opportunity to make some friends.
Not a fan of Pussies
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