Every time I see this. Every damn time. Iām immediately sucked back into my fuckin. Fuckin English lit class with Mr. Fuckass McShit. Mr. āHit the gong to begin classā, āNamaste, Childrenā, āI wanna go backpacking in India to find my spiritual awakening and also my left burkinstock that I lost during a cedar sauna drum circleā ass bastard. āDo you want to share your poetry with the class to get in touch with your emotionsā ass fucker. Mr. āHereās a photograph of a tribal shaman, describe him using nature wordsā asshole. Pretentious-ass, condescending motherfucker. āDo you want to tell us about your saddest memory?ā āI dunno, sir. Are you giving me an option?ā āNo.ā āThen why are you askingā Every goddamn day. Fuck. āYou seem tense.ā Oh, I seem tense? I seem tense. Well fuck, Professor Pillsbury, maybe I āseem tenseā because I walk into a room on five hours of sleep to the sound of a goddamn brass gong drilling through my brain and your seven-foot-nine, socks-and-sandals-wearing, patchouli-smelling ass immediately gravitates in my direction with some shit like āa treeā¦ā¦ā¦ Is a Poemā and I gotta sit here and politely tell you that No Iām Not Comfortable Telling The Class About A Time I Was Emotionally Vulnerable With A Loved One using words that sound like the way the color yellow smells. Maybe I donāt wanna sit in a circle and hold hands with Brittney from Computer Sciences to āalign our aurasā or some shit. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck. I swear to God, if I wanted to sing ākumbayaā with a smelly old guy with gross facial hair who writes bad porn on the side, Iād go out to the parking lot and share a Hookah with Crazy Dan, the disgraced electrician. What, I donāt wanna do an interpretive dance to represent the spiritual experience of eating Quinoa in a room full of ambivalent preteens and suddenly Iām the ātroubled youthā you need to Robin Williams āO Captain My Captainā your way into having a Paternal Bonding Moment powerful enough to Expand My Impressionable Young Mind and Turn My Life Around, you goddamn saint, you? Jesus Fucking Christ. You insufferable jackass. Youāre not āEnlightenedā, you rolled out of bed and ate half a pot brownie, wrote a sad song about a leaf, and strolled into class to ramble about your Spirit Animal for six hours straight before calling it a day. Holy Jesus goddamned Christ. Fucking Balls, sir. Holy Fucking Balls
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