Reflections upon nearly finishing university.


The world is a cruel place, my friends. A mere glance outside my window tells me of this. To see the thronging crowds of homeless begging, banging on the glass, is to see my own future. I’m relatively certain that I shall join their ranks not long after my graduation, and that you will to, for what jobs are there other than the exciting career of homelessness?

“Why is this my future?” You may being asking yourself. The answer is relatively simple, and it is this: You, just like I, have no idea what you are doing. From the age of 5 to 20 something, your life has been laid out before your by your parents and the government, but then, upon the completion of your BA in Classics (or english or whatever) , the path you had been walking has suddenly split into an infinite number of directions. One choice, as it were, into 10,000. You know only a few hard facts:

1. You want to be alive. You know this because you have yet to kill yourself, or are at least very bad at doing so.

2. To survive, you need food and water. I am making an assumption that whoever may be reading this is human. If the reader is some sort of vampire or other undead abomination, he or she or it can substitute blood and/or brains for food and water as needed. Don’t worry, I won’t mind, provided they are not my blood and brains.

3. You need some sort of method to acquire food and water. It’s not like water falls from the skies or food grows on trees, is it? What? It does? Oh! Well, unless you are planning on being a farmer or some sort of hunter gatherer, two noble professions that I am in now way besmirching, then…

4. You need money to buy these things. And then, lastly

5. You probably need a job to find money

That’s all you know concerning your hazy and amorphous future. And so out you trot, into an strange, new world that doesn’t really want you there anyway, searching, vainly searching, for some sort of way to earn money. Fortunately for you there are lots and lots of people out there who want to give you money. Sadly for you, they probably want something in exchange. Also sadly for you, they probably want someone experienced in doing whatever it is that they want to pay you for, and won’t give you money if you have no experience.

“Hang on!” You say, scratching your head at the gangrenous sea captain who is refusing to hire you, “How am I supposed to get experience working on a merchant marine vessel if i am to inexperienced to work on a merchant marine vessel in order to gain experience?” The captain then leans in very close to you, so close that you can see the crustaceans scurrying about in his filthy beard, and feel the smell of foul old tobacco creep out of his acrid mouth and force it’s way into your nostrils, and whispers “No one knows me lad, no one knows. Now, get the fuck of me boat.” With that, he gives you a fatherly punch that sends you sprawling down the gangway, crashing into some barrels and fracturing your spine. Alas, such is life! All you can do is pick yourself up by your own bootstraps, dust off your exposed vertebrae, seek immediate medical attention, and try again.

Eventually you discover an oily man who tells you “Yes of course we have an opening! We always have openings!” He will then lead you into a damp and dark warehouse, populated entirely by under fed Indonesian children and their whip wielding overlords.

“Don’t worry!” He exclaims, clapping you on the shoulder and leading you to a bench with a sowing machine from the 1800’s and a grubby, empty glass, “The feeling of crippling despair will dissipate in time, along with you soul and dreams!” You nod mutely, and then ask “What’s the glass for?”

“Why, your tears of course!” He laughs. “The more you cry, the more you get to drink! Don’t worry though, anything you don’t drink will be collected after work and used to power the machines.”

“Your machines run on tears?” He recoils from you in shock, staring at you long ways down his scaly nose, curling his arms up into reptilian looking claws and hunching his shoulders in a most disturbing manner. He then hisses at you, like a vole, for some time, until he at last composes himself.

“No, of course not! Now, you are B shift, so your work hours will be 6am to 8 pm. If you are late, you will be fired. I suggest sleeping under your table, unless of course the bones will bother you…

“The bones…?”

“Ha! Don’t worry, they don’t belong to anyone who needs them. Not anymore at least…” His face softens, and he stares off into space as if remembering something long since past. He then snaps out of his reverie and smiles much like how a snake would if it had just gotten you to eat an apple. “Glad to have you aboard, work drone #5674! Good day, and work hard! Or else! Ha!”

You spend the next 20 years silently toiling at your machine, weeping only when you are thirsty. You’ve learned to save your precious tears for such instances. You occasionally pause and stare off into space, as a mutinous thought creeps into your brain, questioning why you ever left college in the first place. It was like a giant day care, you recall, but for adults! There were these interesting classes you could go to pretty much whenever you wanted! If you went to one, though, they made you take a test at the end. This was the only bad part you could recall , but it was surely better than stitching your fingers into a Nike logo on an almost daily basis! And you could drink beer instead of tears!

The thoughts pass, however, as quickly as a stinging backhand from your overseer. How did he get his job? You wonder, turning back to your sewing machine with a wistful sigh. It’s almost closing time, after all, and you have been looking forwards to your four hours of sleep for the past half day or so. The bones that litter your floor have now become your friends, and you can’t wait to tell them about the exciting day that you had! They are ever so good at listening, and dont seem to mind that you almost always fall asleep half way through your stories. They are always there when you wake, aren’t they?.

Such is your fate, but don’t feel bad! It’s mine too. Therefore, you should endeavor to stay in college as long as possible, because the real world is scary, and full of violent sea captains and oily, half reptilian slave masters. College is a safe place. Trust me, I’ve seen the signs in front of the library.

My Amazing Hat


My Amazing Hat

A Poem of Great Interest and Excitement!

On a weekend cold and lonely

We three decided that we only

Needed a warm cup of coffee

To make it through the night

Imagine then my exultation

Upon friend Birdsong’s exclamation

That he would drive to starbucks

And save us from our plight

Put the pedal to the Metal!

Narry tarry we, nor settle!

For I can barely stay awake,

Awake upon this finals night!

Through the leaves the wheels did thunder

Pedestrians were rent asunder

Their last thoughts were of their blunder

Of challenging the dragons might!

6/4 miles from square one

our journey was at long last done

We entered the front door

And ordered drinks forthright

Before transactions were completed

I was accosted, even greeted

By an officer of the law

Who stared upon my cranial height

I thought for sure I would be dead

When he broke his gaze and laughing, said

“Is that a muppet on your head?”

To which I replied

“Quite”

Ernie Hat from Sesame Street

I seemed to him an apparition

A-feared of my hat’s disposition

And with a dawning suppositon

Stepped off to my right

“Make way, you fool, for I am thirsty

Move quickly now and I shan’t hurt thee

I need my coffee for I must study

Well into this blasted night.”

He backed away, for he was certain

That he’d been cruising for a hurtin’

For muppet hats are left best alone

Lest one is looking for a fight

Pumpkin spice latte in hand

Away!  Away!  To study land!

To work!  Studieren Sie viel mehr!

Learn stuff to get those answers right!

I wonder what would have transpired

If I was not thusly attired

In my amazing muppit hat

One that windy winter’s night…

Ponderous with a Muppet Hat

It has begun…


And it’s about time, really.  Indeed, I haven’t blogged or written anything that was not academically inclined for many a fortnight.  With my busy schedule I had no time for anything.  Near the end of last semester I had even sequestered myself in my chambers for nearly TWO whole days writing a paper for my ancient paganism class:

My penultimate moment of inspiration...a moment that changed me forever

A class which incidentally had far more to do with early Christianity than anything awesome like druids, babylonians, satanists or etc.  On top of that, I was heavily involved in a valiant but terrible ultimate frisbee teams, and maybe even attended HALF of the games.  Each time i didnt go, y incredible skill brain was sorely missed.

Master tactician that I was, I always played with my head

Any normal human would at this point be so swamped with work that he or she would contemplate ending it all and working at McDonald’s, but not me.  I still found time to play a disgusting amount of video games, work my fingers to the bone at a job that would have much higher productivity if the entire student staff was traded in for poorly trained orangutans, watch two full seasons of dexter, blow $2000 on stuff and verbally abuse nearly everyone I know, because i felt like it.  I eventually became so busy that I pushed through the barrier of Infinitely Busy and came out the other end into a state of doing absolutley nothing; I was so busy that i had nothing to do.  If this makes no sense go take some physics classes at MIT and then you tell me who’s right.

"He's right you know"

But so far this semester, i have had more free time than something that has alot of free time.  A rock or something.  Maybe a fox.  I could see foxes having lots of free time for some reason.  I had more free time than a fox, so i figured that it was high time i started blogging again.  Not that anyone ever reads what i post anyway, more that by the act of blogging itself I become a less bored person and can at least pretend that my opinions are relevant.  After all, my pages are hosted on the internet.  Who else can claim such a ting?  I had grown tired at the other site I previously used.  Blogspot or whatever.  The formating was fail, as were the customization options and the user base.  Additionally , since I was able to get ads on my website, I felt that I had sold out, which made me angry.  And since I never made any money from these ads, I felt I had chosen a poor place to sell out, which made me even angrier.  So I began to fantasize about greener blogging pastures.  Amazingly, when I went to work last week, some coworkers were discussing blogging, and mentioned that they both used wordpress.

“WordPress…” I thought to myself outloud.  They both stopped talking and turned to look at me.  “Yes…of course!  Wordpress!  Its so simple!  HAHAHAHAHAHAH!”  Needless to say this sudden revelation had a twofold effect: I found a fantastic new website to host my indecipherable ravings, and I was able to take command of the good chair at work because the girl I was working with had come to believe I was completely insane.  I was all set to embark upon a new adventure of writing, to sail the golden seas of creativity in the HMS imagination… until i began to watch the tudors and completely forgot about blogging until I arrived at work today.

Before I get to the thing that inspired this incredible post, that is, other then my usual inspiration (heavy metal music), I suppose i should answer a glaring question: Why the Corngoblin?  The answer is simple: During a high school track meet, James and I created the mythical “Corngoblin” in order to amuse ourselves, commenting on other runners by saying things like “He runs as swiftly as the Corngoblin!” etc.  The corngoblin later evolved into a goblin that gobbles corn, and then into a long running joke between nick, james and myself.  Most recently, I have used it for an account name for Xbox live and several online games.  Nick has even drawn a picture of him!  The corngoblin is funny because it makes no sense whatsoever.

So anyway, I was going through everyone’s status’s on facebook because I am creepy and that’s what creepy people do, when I came across a particular status that drew my attention.  A friend of mine had deleted most of his facebook friends who he either didn’t know or didn’t care to hear about; a novel idea in this day and age.  He kept only people who meant something to him in some way or another.  And this got me thinking.  Does anyone actually believe that they are friends with all of their facebook friends?   Is there some poor soul who, after his or her first week of college, gets a call from his or her mother and proudly claims “Why yes, I have made friends.  2,387 in fact.  You can see them on my facebook!”  That would be pure insanity.

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words.  I say a picture of insanity wolf is worth 10,000 years of madness.  In short, people probably do have too many facebook friends, but dont worry, i probably wont drop you any time soon.  Probably…

Lastly, heres a short story i wrote for german.  Dont speak german?  TOO BAD.

Die Tragödie der Bananafingers

Bananafingers hat in den Spiegal angestarrt.  Sie war hässlich, und keine Männer haben sie geliebt, weil sie hattet Bannanen für Finger.  Sie, aber, hattet einen Entwurf: wenn alle leute haben Bananen für Finger, dann sie schön würdet. Plötzlich, Hamburgerface hat das Zimmer eingegeben.

“Bananfingers, was ist unrecht?”  Hamburgerface hat gesagt.

“Keine Männer lieben mich, weil ich so hässlich bin!” Bananfingers hat geschrien.  Sie hat den Spiegal mit ihre aasige Hände geschlagen, der ist nicht brach ab weil der Finger zu leicht war.

“Oh mein Bananafingers, du bist schön in dein eigen besondere Weg!  Wer noch kann ihre Finger essen?  Du haßt die appetitlichsten Finger in die ganze Welt!” Hamburgerface hat gesagt.  Neue Tränen sind in Bananafinger’s Augen geformt; Tränen der freude.

“Oh Hamburgerface, du wisst immer wie mich Lächeln machen!  Dass ist warum ich liebe dich.” Sie hat gesagt.  Hamburgerface hat geworden gegen Bananafingers mit Traurigkeit an seiner Gesischt.

“Oh Bananafingers, ich könnte dich nie lieben.”

“Warum?”

“Weil… Weil du Bananen für Finger hast!”

******************************************

I know,  I cry every time i read it too.

%d bloggers like this: