Ahem. I must apologize. I suffer from post-pamphlet stress disorder. I am not alone in my affliction, as this silent disease strikes nearly one out of every twenty college students. No, it doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard about it, everyone knows about it, people you know have it. They just haven’t told Ki>you. Because you’re different. And it has nothing to do with the orange-feathered feelers.

There is hope, though—I am currently seeking treatment, and I haven’t assaulted anyone carrying folded paper in nearly a month. The sight of a leaflet can still send me into a cold sweat, though.

Anyway, where else could they do the myriad crazy things they never would’ve even considered anywhere else? Where else—

Wait a second. There’s something about the first paragraph . . . lets replace a few choice words, here . . .

“Ah . . . college prison. It’s great to be back. There’s nothing quite like it, you know. The environment is totally unlike anything else most people will ever experience. Where else can you find hundreds or even thousands of students prisoners living, working, and eating together; where else can you find disgustingly large numbers of people experimenting with different lifestyles becoming somebody’s bitch and consuming large quantities of psychoactive chemicals? Where else can you subscribe to an unknown political philosophy believe in CIA sponsored anal probing and not be laughed at? Where else could you join a new, cutting edge, violently evangelical and missionary faith and have the complete strangers that you’re molesting with pamphlets smile and nod politely instead of crushing your larynx, your larynx that spews such lies, lies that hurt their eyes and mind and god, who is the one true god before all others even though he/she/it has three worshipers and the other two are in an institution, and WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE LIGHT beat the shit out of you until Bubba the Widowmaker says that he’s a believer?”

Huh. Maybe there is another experience like college. Weird.

You know, come to think of it, the rooms do look kinda similar . . . though I think my dorm room has less decoration and more asbestos.

Can’t have the prisoners getting sick, people.