Last week my English professor had us do an assignment where we write a page or two of information about ourselves. Just bullshit like where you're from, your major, and whatever. This is what I turned in:
What should I write here? Should I write my hometown, major, option, and what I plan to do with my college degree? Well that’s just downright fascinating discussion. “What’s your major” and “Where are you from?” are the last resort of people who just don’t really have much of interest to say to you. Either they’re too boring to come up with something to say or you’re too boring to be the focus of a real conversation. Either way, I say don’t bother. Instead of obligatory, uninteresting crap, I’ll share a story my LSD-addled Vietnam vet uncle told me once.
The following was dictated by Roger “Ironheart” Schacht
Boy, I’ve got some shit to tell you. What are you doing holding that book up in front of your face like that? You afraid I’m going to grab you by the neck and try out one of the seventy-three death holds they taught me at Da Nang? I’m your uncle, fer Chrissakes, what do you think I’m gonna do? There you go, put it down. You can trust your uncle. WAAAAH! (At this point Uncle Doug has thrown Cody on the ground and immobilized him with a vicelike grip around his neck). There you go! You can’t trust anybody, you little shit! Quit begging me for air. Would it kill you to at least say please?
So anyways, five years after I get back from the war, I go to this party and I meet myself a wonderful girl. At least I thought she was a wonderful girl at the time. She actually ended up being an alligator. What do you mean that sounds made up? Were you there? So anyways, those were more liberal times when it was cool to try new things, so instead of freaking out, I went with the flow and made out with that alligator right there on the spot. The gator was all like “Aww yeah baby, how’d you learn to kiss me like that?” To which I replied, “I know how to rub your kind the right way. I learned how to properly treat your kind from playing Crocodile Dentist when I was a child.”
When that happened, I’ll be damned if the gator didn’t snap at me and put a huge gash across my chest. What? Your mother says I got this from playing too close to the wheat thresher when I was nine? I’ve got a joke for you: what’s the difference between a basketball and your mother? Give up? A basketball is orange and your mother is a lying whore. Anyways, the alligator says, “I’m an alligator, not a crocodile, you racist! Do all black people look alike to you too, Adolph?” Man, that’s where it just got too real, you know? Want a Quaalude?
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