Archive for August, 2010


Who’s in the Bathroom?

Here’s a ‘What Do You Do?’ scenario: say you’re on campus and you live in an apartment with, oh let’s say 7 other males or females. Now, lets say that there is a couple of bathrooms in this swanky apartment. You’re in your room on Facebook and you realize that you have to take a nasty shit. You walk out of your room that was locked and you notice that everyone has left (maybe they all had classes, I don’t know). You find this to be a good thing because you’ve been wanting and waiting months to finally have a nice shit (# 2 for those of you who aren’t hip to the derogatory slang), without the need to do weird sounds to flood the sound of your shit plashing in the water or the sounds of you farting beastly.

You even open the front door and look out the windows to make sure your mates aren’t lingering around outside; they’re not, so you get all happy and stuff like a relapsed crackhead. You proceed to the bathroom, lock the door—then check again to make sure the door is really locked, it is. You then unzip those jeans, and a take seat on the toilet. You jump a little having just felt the coldness of the plastic friendly seat, but you don’t mind, because your boo-tay will warm it soon enough. You’re freaking smiling ear to ear, ecstatic to experience this moment of freedom. You actually have time to admire the décor in the bathroom, discovering everything in it for the first; this act of discovery wasn’t possibly before. You plash away and fart away! You’re in this state of euphoria! Meanwhile the smell of your freedom is building up because you didn’t flush once your brown logs dropped.

Suddenly you hear voices from the thin walls that lead to the outside hallway. They’re coming closer and you recognize that it’s 5 of your mates and their friends too. Shit, you say quietly. You still have more logs that are waiting for deployment. The key unlocks the front down and all walk in. You’re sweating and panting, confused and thinking a mile a minute. That euphoric feeling is a distant memory. You’re now in agony and distress. FML! FML! FML! you think, but F-ing your life is the least of your worries.

One of your mates makes a comment “it smells like shit in here”, the others sniff and shake their heads in agreement, ‘yes it does smell like shit in here’. Then your mate goes to the bathroom door, waddles the knob and knocks “who’s in there?”. You’re frozen, heart pounding and eye twitching, but you can’t hold back the pressure of the fart that’s to come. You let loose and your mates all come to the bathroom door, disgusted by the sounds that are coming from behind the locked door. They stand there listening to you break bread. They wait while some ask who’s in the bathroom. They cover their nose, spray and open all windows. What do you do?

A Friend Dies, Who Cares?

YOU CARE! So, as I said in the title: A Friend Dies, Who Cares? By Friend, I mean roommate and by dies I mean, dead, as in, in the room while you’re asleep and he/she kicks the bucket. Yeah, it sounds harsh and crazy-like, but for argument sake, take a couple of minutes and think about this situation. If you’re a struggling college student who can’t handle the load of college life and academics, no scratch that: if you’re a student that has attended one too many college parties, procrastinated far too much, hung out with friends often, and was borderline failing ALL your exams, you would have hoped your roommate would have kicked his/her bucket sooner.

It’s a rare reality, but when it happens, seize the moment and rejoice! I’m sure you’re thinking “I don’t want my roommate to die.” Ah, stop lying through those yellow teeth of yours. One of the major issues with college students are they lie too damn much and don’t tell the truth with needed. You are extremely ecstatic of this sudden and abrupt death!

Now, first off, I’m considerate and understand that your roommate—or mine for that matter may have been going through some serious life threatening issues; I deeply and honestly sympathize. But shall I sit there and gain nothing from my emotional distress?  Hell no! You must approach this blessing from an intellectual point of view. An intellect of dire need would of course, wake up one morning and discover that his roommate has died in his/her sleep. The intellect would then, after immediately being shocked would notify the university police. If you hate your roommate with sheer passion (make sure this passion of hate wasn’t public so that the bereavement process would be believed), now would be the right time to drop those emotions of hate and don the emotions of a psychologically disabled friend and roommate.

I’m not a mean and sick person to think like this. This situation may happen to you, and you don’t want to be left looking stupid come the end of the semester when your GPA looks like shit, and death. I’m telling you this because it’s a possibility that may occur; if it does not occur, then good luck to you and your GPA. To continue…

Make sure you attend all the required counseling sessions offered by the university. Now if your conscience starts eating at you, booze it up, it helps in the psychologically distraught phase. If the university will not honor you and grant you a 4.o for the unexpected death, make sure you gain the trust and support of the roommate’s family, it helps. The university will then be eating out the palm of your hands, giving you the up-most treatment; you’re royalty in their eyes now.

Oh, if they say you can miss your finals, insist you attend them all; you’re not completely going to ride this rollercoaster of greatness without a little studying…and it shows you’re resilient. Go to those Finals! Once they say “we’re giving you all A’s in your courses, quietly, rejoice within and looked shocked. If you can tear, by all means tear—but not too much, uphold your dignity. Now, you can begin the rehabilitation process of yourself, because you look like HELL.

You have a perfect semester GPA, but your overall GPA still looks like shit, sorry, I’m no magic maker. Remember this blessing is a rarity, but when it happens, seize the moment and get you’re ‘A’.

NOTE: A death of a friend and/or roommate is a serious matter. If you notice changes in normal/mental behavior, contact the universities counseling services immediately.

It’s extremely typical for a struggling college student to self-indulge in the eating of the Ramen. It’s a poor man’s way to stay full while suffering with constipation. Oh, I’ve seen the empty packages of Ramen in the garbages in the campus dorms; piles and piles of chicken, beef, pork and oriental flavors. Amidst its shitload of carbohydrates lies an insurmountable amount of sodium. For all of you who’ve eaten this shitty mix of college delight, you’ve probably had a slight sodium hangover. I know I have.

Personally, I can’t stand eating the Ramen. How about you? No, thought so. So now let’s move on to the intestinal consequence of eating the Ramen. There’s this wonderful process that takes place once you swallow your food called peristalsis, the contraction of muscles which move in a wave down the esophagus. However, when one eats the Ramen, it’s as if the process suddenly shuts down (I WONDER WHY), kind of like it recognized a foreign food-like substance. Now don’t eat get me wrong, the Ramen taste good…while it’s HOT, but once that sucker cools, it’s like swallowing the starting product. The dumb-ass college student has eaten the Ramen. 40 minutes!

The Ramen then continues in the stomach where the acids (protease and hydrochloric acid) that do suppose to breakdown the food somehow dysfunctions. You can just picture the acids saying “what the hell is this foreign shit you’ve eaten?” Instead of being processed within 40 minutes to a couple of hours, it just sits there dazed and confused; the Ramen is looking at the acids and the acids are looking at the Ramen. It’s anybody’s game at this point. Then the acid sensing something better has entered the esophagus, half-asses it and breakdown 30% of the Ramen and passes it off to the small intestine, which is not too happy to receive it. 4 hours!

The small intestine looks at the Ramen like “who and what the hell are you?” The Ramen sits there half processed and exposed of its fat ass carbohydrates lingering around. Thinking of a way to pay both the stomach and the dumb-ass college student back for having eaten and passing it off to it, now decides to do the unthinkable: total shutdown, which doesn’t allow the stomach to further process the delicious food that has entered after the Ramen. It takes a few minutes for the small intestine to explain to the pancreas the situation at hand. The pancreas then only secretes 10% of the enzymes that are supposed to do 60% of the work. By this time the dumb-ass college student is feeling a little bloated and experiences some discomfort (expelling of gas). But wait, THERE’S MORE. 10 hours!

It’s now the small intestine time (with the enzymes donated by the pancreas to pump shit loads of nutrients into the blood stream). But instead of nutrients, it pumps 5 billion milligrams of sodium into the blood stream, hence the start of the sodium hangover. The small intestine then knocks on the Large intestine door and explains the situation, with a heartfelt speech. The Large intestine understanding what the dumb-ass college student has done, agrees in helping to bestow a wrath of pain. 15 hours-1 day!

The Large intestine looks at the 55% processed Ramen and laughs at it. It then drains all the water out of the Ramen until it is a hard paste and moves it slowly to the rectum. While it’s slowly moving the foreign Ramen to the rectum, it sends text messages to the nerves telling them to shoot pains through the dumb-ass college student’s body. The dumb-ass college student is now in agony, but he/she hasn’t experienced the final push! 2 days!

The Rectum, a body’s most coveted friend in the elimination process is experiencing a total traffic jam of Ramen shit. It’s sending over a thousand text messages and signals to the Anus, alarming it to brace itself for what’s to come. The Anus then works out its muscles (contracting and tensing up), fearing massive anal ripping. A systematic alarm warns the body to brace itself for deployment of the Ramen. The dumb-ass student pushes for 20 minutes while on the toilet, whipping only paste from the base of his/her anus and causes the air to fume with decomposing shit. This continues until all has cleared, or until the abdominal muscles call it quits. 2 day 2 hours!

Finally the dumb-ass college student has finished and the remains of the Ramen lay at the bottom of the toilet. It’s up to the toilet to figure out the next step: either carry it down to the pits of the dormitory or humiliate him/her by stopping up and flooding the bathroom. In this case, to not cause a scene, it takes it down with two flushes.

For the next few days the Anus spends it time in recovery mode, having suffered from massive ripping.

The deed is done and the dumb-ass college student has promised to never eat the Ramen again and get his/her broke ass a job. This is just another day in the life of a college student. Enjoy the Ramen!

I understand the life of a college student; I’m one of the poor bastards. However, your biology should not stink at 9am. By biology I mean, your breath, and in most cases, your body. I’ve come to understand that many students just roll out of bed and proceed to class. In most cases they wear their cloths that which they also wore to bed. This is absolutely fine by me as long as you sit yourself across the room.  Some say it’s a force of habit to rush out of bed without first donning oneself with water, soap, toothpaste and deodorant. But in reality they do not understand the severe consequences they bestow upon that student that sits aside them.

I awakened one morning feeling rather well about the day. It was a Tuesday. I remember this day solely due to the severity of this student’s poor hygiene. I stopped for some coffee, briskly said hello to the homeless person who sat at the entrance of the train station, and even gave up my seat to an elderly person. This was a great day, so far. The previous day I put aside my daily procrastination routine and actually read the assigned chapter for the next day. I felt proud that I accomplished this easy task. But nothing prepared me for my experience the next day in biology lecture.

I took the second seat in from the aisle. It was around 8:45am and the professor made his way to the front of the lecture hall. He even looked to be in a pleasant mood. Things couldn’t be better. I looked around; the drunken-faced students made their way to their seats. The usual pensive student, George sat to my right. We were on good terms; he didn’t ask me questions and I returned the favor. We worked well as adjacent seatmates. The professor told us to quiet down, we listened. The class was about 90% full. And he started the lecture: mutations in mitochondrial DNA.

Class was in full focus. The professor was going through each process on mutations, mitochondria and DNA. Then this flush faced girl, while standing asked me was the aisle seat taken. I told her no, and so she sat. I didn’t pay much attention to her. Then she asked another question and I turned and consequently my mind was blown. The rotten stench of air that spewed out from her mouth into my nostrils offset the worst episode of vertigo I’ve ever had. I got lost in a dizzy cloud of rancid inebriation. She then repeated the question. My stomach turned like a farmer’s wife turning butter on a hot humid day. I had to hold my head while trying to shut down my nose and mouth. The intensity was unlike any smell I’ve ever smelled. Part of me died that morning. She was definitely harboring a corpse in the pit of her colon.

George got the remaining volume of stench that crept past me. The vile smell had stripped him of his sanity. His faced seemed to turn inside out. Whatever took place for the next 5 minutes, we were oblivious.  We had the mutual agreement that the smell of death was not coming from our eco friendly colons. I had to muster up the words from deep within my catatonic body and say “I have no idea” to her. She then turned and continued to listen to the professor.

Either she had multiple mutations occurring systematically at once or the dead corpse’s mitochondria that lay within her were giving off a shit load of free radicals. Whatever the case might have been, her biology was stinking at 9am.

Dorming: the pit fall of a hell to live at. I mean this in the most respectable manner. Some dormitories can be a wonderful experience to live at, but the majority is a laughing joke. But in all honesty, it could be a got damn nightmare. First off, if you do decide to dorm, you’ll be paying a hell of a lot more money that your commuter pupils. And you won’t necessarily be living it up. Depending upon your parent’s bank accounts or your parents credit, determines your dorming experiences.

College is a steam rolling hell on academic wheels. It is an institution that leaves you in a mounting pile of 30 years to life debt. You’ve listened to your high school teachers and administrators tell you the importance of college, but did they tell you how much bullshit it is? Nope, thought so. Did they explain that you pay buckets loads of your parents hard earned money only for you to experience a fire alarm at four in the morning? Nope, I thought so. And don’t say fire alarms are for safety precautions, that’s only 20% true. You’ll come to experience the lack of sleep from all nighters to only then be awakened to a blaring alarm.

Did they tell you how crazy wrong some academic advisors can be even though that advisor might hold a B.S. degree in Bull Shitter of Science? Nope, thought so. You see, teachers do not teach and tell you everything, not everything truly important anyway. They tell you the dreamy hopes and dreams that President Kennedy told a nation of youth in the 1960’s. But let’s be real, this is not the 1960’s. I mean, those were some monumental protesting times of peace, love and happiness.

I very well remember one of my dorming experiences using the bathroom for number two and then coming to the shocking realization that there was no toilet tissue in the stall. You would think that $4ooo.oo worth of rooming was insuring enough to make one believe that toilet tissue would be free flowing, but I was mistaken. You might be thinking what did I do next? I’ll tell you. I thought for a while…and did a little more thinking. Then I realized I was wearing boxers, the next best thing to toilet tissue. So I stripped while sitting, then I wiped and flushed boxers and all. Was it my obligation to be concerned with possible flooding? Nope.

By the way this session with the bathroom happened around 3am. The indecent exposure of a young brilliant thinker with no boxers on suited the time and the dwelling of residents who peacefully slept. The next morning I had a couple of words with the cleaning lady. No amigos, I wasn’t going to yell at her. I simply made a demanding gesture to leave an extra roll or two or even three if 38 students on one floor are sharing three bathrooms.

College is a shit storm of tragedies; a whirlwind of unexpected situations that leave you thinking outside the box. You may need to think outside the box the next time you take a seat at a toilet.

Tell me your worst experience in your dorm, or where ever.

Hello College Life Readers!

The shrill of college is upon your or you’re already basking in its hazy hell of mistaken academic glory. This blog is the good, the bad, the nasty and the sad; it’s the absolute truth about college.

So you’ve graduated high school. Congratulations! Job well done! I’m proud of you, honestly. You’ve spent the last four years of your life on a daily schedule of listening to boring teachers, ridged class times, loud speakers of loud nonsense office administrators and parents getting on your nerves. But now you’ve graduated high school and probably reached that beautiful age of 18? Yes? Well, congratulations, again!

Now you’re on your way to college, super! That’s all well and everything. College is important and what not? I would say congratulations to you, but once I’m done giving your brains an overload on the absolute truth about it, you’ll be wishing a high school diploma was the ending of your degrees…but sadly it’s 2010. If you have a high school diploma, McDonald’s won’t even hire you. Anyone who has ever applied to the food chains of America can now see a section of Yes or No questions on whether you attended college and obtained a degree. Yes amigos, even McDonald’s expects you to have a degree before taking an order.

Oh, I very well remember my high school graduation. I was short (still short, but whatever) and acne swarmed my face like Lady Gaga on the radio airways. I wasn’t too happy about starting a new chapter in life, but whatever. I sat in a sea of eager misguided misfit students that thought freedom was upon the horizon. They couldn’t be any wrong. You see, a high school student who decides to continue hell in college meant freedom was never upon the horizon but rather 6 feet in a solemn grave. I looked at them—even the crazy-eyed girl who sat beside me. Could she be more stupid looking? That dreadful walk to the stage seemed to cause slight cardiac arrhythmia but I kept my cool and accepted my diploma that meant little to nothing.

Anyway, I left high school at 18 years old and college would now be my next stop for four years, or so I thought. Keep reading readers…you won’t be dissatisfied. This is a TELL ALL about everything; the absolute truth about it.