The Good, the Bad, and the Nights I Forgot About

I like
every night that
I say the next day
was a “bad night.”

Because the “bad nights”
are always the best nights.
I always feel like I’m lying
through my teeth

the next morning
when I say I fucked up.
We both know I didn’t.

NONE OF THIS MAKES ANY SENSE.

Right now, I’m reading an excerpt for my Values and Morality class. It’s about the Gospels of Jesus and how Christ viewed the topic of divorce. Here is an actual excerpt from Chapter 15 of The Moral Vision of the New Testament, written by Richard B. Hays:

Rather than having the holy polluted by the unholy, the opposite effect occurs. The holy “contaminates” the unholy and sanctifies it. Holiness is more powerful than uncleanness. Or, to put it a bit more provocatively, holiness is - as it were - a venereal disease, passed from one spouse to the other.

Apparently, a believer can fuck Christianity into their spouse and their spouse will be saved.
…just not from the crabs.

Citation:
Hays, Richard B. Moral vision of the New Testament community, cross, new creation: a contemporary introduction to New Testament ethics. [San Francisco]: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996. Print.

They’re selling you magazines.

My Sundays are usually reserved for lazy activities; sleeping in, playing a video game, thumbing through a book, watching the Sunday news shows, taking a quiet stroll through a park, nursing the irreconcilable hangover that’s been brewing for two nights, etc. Today was different.

At around 2 in the afternoon, I heard a knock on my door, something completely innocent and common. When I opened my door, I was greeted by two girls whom I have never met. I stood puzzled as to what was going on. They introduced themselves and asked me if I went to school here. I live in a dorm. Red flag number one. Then they asked if I was a freshman. I live in a well-known upperclassman dorm. Red flag number two. They started asking me what my major was and if I have taken any communication-based classes. I said I was an English major and that I’m actually concentrating in communications, so yes, I have taken classes in that subject.
Then they started telling me about something. I couldn’t hear or understand them. All I did was nod and smile. Then they said something about a survey and a contest and whipped out a piece of laminated paper. They asked me to pick out a magazine that I like and handed me the paper. I said that I liked Ski Magazine.
They said something about putting a sticker on my door, none of which I understood, and then asked if I had a table they could write on. I pointed to the table behind them in the common room, and they pulled out what looked like a checkbook. I recognized the paper as a receipt and said, “woah, woah, woah, am I paying for this? You guys said it was a survey.” I proceeded to tell them that I refused to buy anything from them, and that they could promptly go fuck themselves.

Stop and Think.

I woke up this morning, checked my usual stuff online, got dressed, and went to breakfast. As usual, I headed to the bookstore to pick up my daily New York Times (I wanted a good crossword to get my brain juices flowing), only to find that the bookstore was closed. I grabbed a USA Today upstairs instead. Not the best crosswords, but whatever. It’s something to do. I ended up finishing the crossword early, so I skimmed the paper. That’s when I saw this article.

I’m pretty sure everyone around me heard me face palm so loud that they actually turned and looked.

Here’s the thing. The man is the fucking president. For the last time, deal with it. We were subjected to George W. Bush for 8 years, can these kids get a break for once?

I was talking to one of my old teachers today and he mentioned that they aren’t allowed to watch the address on Tuesday. My old school district. The one I spent 13 years of my life in. Mine.

Here’s the deal. I’m going to say this one last time and if it sticks, great. If it doesn’t, I’ll see you out there with your misspelled signs and “Don’t Tread on Me” flags, okay? Okay.

Ready?

1. Obama is your president. Suck it.
2. He wasn’t born in Kenya. He showed you his birth certificate. Stop.
3. Government is already in medicare. Medicare is a government-run program. Like Social Security. That’s like saying you don’t want corn flakes in your corn flakes.
4. Stop saying things are socialism if you have no idea what socialism is, and none of you do.
5. Stop, to use your word, indoctrinating your kids into whatever it is you believe. Give them a fucking chance, okay? They’re kids. They’re smarter than all of us. They don’t know what Republicans and Democrats are. They don’t care. They just want to laugh and play and maybe learn about stuff. If I could laugh and play and learn about stuff instead of working, that’s paradise.
6. Don’t pull your kids out of school because the president of our country is going to speak to them.
7. Don’t complain about it either. What the fuck does that accomplish?
8. One more time, to sum up, stop doing everything you’re doing and think hard about shit. Especially how to spell things on signs.

Shotgun!

Last winter, against my better judgment, in an attempt to stay awake during the dream-killing week before exams, I just shotgunned a Rip It Energy Drink. I got it at the local Dollar Tree. I figure, hell, if’ I’m going to make my heart explode, I shouldn’t spend four dollars on a Red Bull if I can buy essentially the same thing for only a dollar.
I probably won’t buy it ever again, considering the two seconds I actually could taste the yellow acid burning away my throat, I wanted to die.