Spit on my Super Bowls and Plates. RA= Resident Asses.

Incase you were not aware, today was Super Bowl Sunday, and Dorm's are stupid.



Dormitory is Greek for "Place where loud obnoxious people invade your privacy, and they make you pay for laundry. 1 dollar each load, and 1 dollar each dry, even though you need to use 3 loads and 3 drys so your clothes don't smell like the festering shit sack that you call your home while trying to get a decent education."



I think it is clear why we no longer speak Greek, and every culture has filtered out the Gyro and Feta Cheese.



Infact, as I wrote this, a fellow dorm-mate of mine walked through the hallway as loudly as possible, proclaiming to his friend who is in the room way too often, "Everytime i fuckin' see you, you are wearin' a fuckin' beanie, with your fuckin' wavy ass hair floppin' out the fuckin' sides."



After hearing this, my IQ dropped 30 points instantly, it started raining outside, and I lost 12 Facebook friends.


Sean Dart is: Loving living in the immediate vicinity of 13 year olds.



As many people could understand, I have recently become incapable of digesting the food from Hoke, the cafeteria here on campus.



I am convinced cardboard is not in the food pyramid, therefore my stomach is not built to withstand the digesting of Hoke foods.



So...I decided to BUY food from Wal Mart, and cook it myself in the communal kitchen. A novel concept, yes?



NO.



The RA's in our hall decided to revert to a hybrid disciplinary method involving totalitarian dictatorship, and elementary school detention.



They closed down the communal kitchen for EVERYONE because SOMEONE left a mess in the kitchen and didn't turn the oven off.



So...I thought I would make the RA a proposal.



"Hey, if I clean up the mess in the kitchen, can I use it? I'm hungry, and I need to cook food. And Hoke is closed. And it's sunday. And my name is Sean. And you are looking at me like I am mentall challenged."



"Um....um.....um....let me...let me check on that."



(Pretends to dial his cell phone but I am sure he just opened tetris, then started talking to the sound effects on his phone.)



"Um...um...yeah I'd love to open it for you...but...um...hold on...what's that you say? Oh....um...HIGH SCORE. ALL TIME RECORD. BEE BOOP BEE BOOP BOOP BEEP BEE BEEP BOOP."



"Um...excuse me, Mr. RA, did you just try to answer my question with Tetris game sound effects? Was there anyone really on the phone just now? And why are you trying to rotate my body to fit perfectly between make-believe polygons?"



"SYSTEM ERROR. MALFUNCTION. YOU. CANT. USE. THE KITCHEN. GO. TO. BED. No running in the halls."



More or less*, this is EXACTLY* how our conversation went, and long story short, I had to sacrafice the body of a kid across the hall, and cooked my chicken over an open flame, created by this poor college student. And by chicken, I mean the other white meat. Human. Then I stole his Rock Band. But I was full. Because I ate him afterwards too.



*Less. *Not exactly.



Either that, or I went to Subway.



"5. 5 dollar. 5 dollar freshmannnnnnn."



Amidst all of this disciplinary horse manure inflicted by the RA's. (I guess it is illegal in Oregon to eat another human) I was wishing people would treat me like I am older than I am.



How nice it would be to be older, wiser, more mature.



Then I saw one of the owners of the Steelers football franchise speak after their superbowl victory.



"First and foremost I would like to thank President Obama. And this group of men are a fantastic football team."



I was waiting for him to conclude his groundbreaking speech by saying "Happy Thanksgiving. Now let's eat some Turkey." Leaving the whole audience in awe, wondering what this senile old man was thinking.



Turns out he went on to actually talk about football, but it got me to thinking, we should probaly thank Obama for everything in our lives. Good or bad. I'm pretty sure I might have read somewhere on the Internet that he is actually immortal, and the second coming of Christ, and that he is the best thing on this earth since Chia Pet.



Thank you Obama, for leaving the oven on, and closing the kitchen.



Thank you Obama, for opening Subway, and allowing me to get double the meat, for only $1.89 more.



How you know you are an inconsiderate roommate:



This story is 110%* true, as opposed to my other stories, which are all 100%** true.



*Really. **Not really.



My roommate and I were watching TV, quietly minding our own business. Then, our ex-suitemate who is still technically living here but never lives here because he lives with his girlfriend in another suite, walked in.



First, he started talking, and it was apparent that his voice was very raspy.



He declared to us that he was very sick, and his doctors had no idea what is wrong with him, they just put him on a bunch of antibiotics and hoped for it to be gone in the next week or so. We joked with him, saying "Yeah stay away from us then, we don't wanna get sick."



He laughed. We laughed. It was all a very innocent time.



Then, about 40 minutes later, we are in the living room still, and our ex-suitemate comes storming in the door, makes an immediate left towards the sink with all of our DISHES in it.



Pauses...clears his throat to gather as much mucus as possible, ducks his head into the sink, and spits out a wad of loogie that could be commonly mistaken as a living, breathing heap of booger-spit in most situations. He then removes his head from the depths of the sink, runs water over it for .5 seconds, and walks out, like nothing happened.



First, I shot him in the head in my mind.



Second, I made a promise to myself to wipe my ass with his pillowcase.



And third, I made a note to myself to never, ever, ever use those dishes again.



I used those dishes again, after a thorough cleansing session, but I never did get around to shooting him in my mind. So...I write mean things annonymously online. Revenge is sweet.



Speaking of revenge, I think im gonna go make a mess in the kitchen, leave the oven on, and door-knock-ditch my RA, sprout my first armpit hair, then get on AIM instant messenger, and ask this cute girl to Promotion, because I am 13 again, and 7th grade is like the best year YET!



Baaaaaaaaaaah.