The One Without a Title
And here I am, once again in front of my computer trying to write a paper
that sounds as if I actually read the source material. I was about midway through
my first sentence when one of my friends strolled in unannounced and began to
read aloud everything I'd written so far. "This… paper… is…
a huge… steaming… pile of…" he shouted, completely throwing
me off balance. "Oh sorry, did I disrupt your train of thought?" he
smirked. I shook my head. I didn't really want to tell him the truth, that he
had basically thrown a metaphysical penny onto the railroad tracks of consciousness,
derailing my train of thought which crashed into a nearby village, killing the
entire population in a ridiculously gigantic fireball of wanton destruction.
The village had consisted entirely of farmers, and since there was nobody left
at harvest time the people in the city all eventually died of starvation, leaving
nobody left to operate the power plants or contribute to science in any way.
Soon enough the rest of humanity devolved into drooling shadows of their former
selves, and were left to suffer in an eternal winter wasteland, wondering whether
they would die from syphilitic scurvy or if the rabid wolverine hordes would
get to them first. My mind was not a happy place to be.
But I didn't say that. I just shrugged "uh… not really," and
politely kicked him out my window (housekeeping, I promise I'll have the glass
money by the end of the week). Sitting back down to work, I decided to let my
paper slide and start the TSL (ooh, look what I said! Hee hee hee, snort) story
instead. I needed a headline. Not just any headline; I needed a headline that
would slap you in the face, take your lunch money and then wait until recess
to really beat you down. But all I was coming up with were self-referential
wankerisms that would only be funny to me and maybe one other person in Kansas
City. I'd just about settled on a headline that said "shit" twice,
used 6 derivatives of "fuck" and somehow managed to insult every other
Claremont College when I got a call from this guy in my History class. This
is one of those guys who never does the reading but always manages to say intelligent
things in class without ever betraying his laziness. I know this because I'm
the exact same way, and he's stealing my thunder. I tried to challenge him to
a duel last week but he said he would only do it with shotguns at two paces.
I asked him if he really wrote To Kill a Mockingbird after all, but he
just gave me a weird look and I left, disgusted. Anyway, this guy called me
up asking if I knew anything about that pesky History paper due the next morning.
I told him it was minimum nine pages, at least twelve sources and a blood sample
was required to be submitted simultaneously. He thanked me, made some joke about
Sartre in a jumpsuit and hung up. True, I did lie to him slightly-who assigns
nine-pagers anymore?-but he was pissing me off, all up in my crib like he was
some kinda whack-ass suckafreek. Though it did remind me that I still had to
write eight pages and get some blood drawn in less than ten hours. Nine of those
would, of course, be set aside for sleeping time, so I basically had one hour
to get all this done.
At midnight there aren't a lot of places you can go to get your blood drawn
unless you have a friend with a knife. Luckily, I had several, so it was simple
enough to go find some tubing and a plastic bag. The whole operation went fairly
smoothly, though there was a hole in the bag. And if you are one of the six
people who called Camp Sec on us, I really hope you will burn in hell. One thing
done, I limped back to my room to start my paper.
The topic was "Issues in 18th century Welsh Provincial Government".
Staring blankly at my screen, all I could think of was to write about how good
the Super Furry Animals are and how it's a shame nobody will get off their ass
and buy one of their CDs or at least download a song or two. But I tried that
topic last year in an ethics class, and figured that I didn't need a death threat
from another prof this semester. So, gritting my teeth, I hunkered down and
opened the textbook. Much of it was fascinating (did you know that most books
carry "contents pages" now?) but I was shocked to learn that not a
single 18th century Welsh Government issue dealt with sheep in any way. With
less than half an hour until precious bedtime, there was only one option. I
began the paper by refusing to recognize the Welsh government's authority and
segued from this into a 13-page diatribe on toaster ovens and almost every form
of government in the world today (Fun Fact: did you know that Clear Channels
has specifically banned every Rage song from the radio? They didn't even bother
listing the songs. They just wrote, literally, "every Rage Against the
Machine song". Kooky!) I also noted, with a hint of malaise, the startling
lack of sheep-based comedic-style humor in society today, especially if you
don't get Cartoon Network. I really think this paper will be my best one ever.
My teacher deserves it - I don't want to see her cry again, like she did when
she handed back my last paper.
Satisfied, I clambered into bed and hit the lights. Just as I was falling asleep
I finally realized I hadn't written my TSL story yet. Ah well, nuts to that.
Not like Pomona students even read the newspaper anyway.