Rodent's, Potions, and other things that embarrass me

http://video.yahoo.com/network/100000086?v=5017561&l=100000085

Please watch this video before reading this blog. If you are like me, you are in college, with an abundance of spare time, no homework and internet access.

These 3 things add up to equal one common denominator: INTERNET VIDEOS.

I have become mildly addicted to them in the last few weeks of my college experience, as my classes are less and less demanding, and my time is more and more free to do pointless things.

I wouldn't consider it a waste of time, but I would consider it most often hilarious, and at times, utterly excellent.

I am assuming by now you have watched the above video in it's entirety and you are probably wiping away tears of laughter, compassion and love.

BUT hold on...don't get too squirrel friendly just yet. I have made that mistake. Allow me to explain.

Last week, I was walking to class, and as I left the dorms, I saw a squirrel much like the one in the video. Except it was more brown than grey. That is completely irrelevent.

Anyway, this squirrel was staring into the glass reflection created by the door that is the main entrance to the dorms, and this little guy was repeatedly hurdling himself into the glass barrier, over and over, falling on it's back, squirming, jerking, and repeating the process.

Dozens of students looked on, myself included, and the genereal response was "What the fuck is that squirrel doing?"

The squirrel then replied, "I am insane," and went on to jump into the glass more.

Before any of us could comprehend what the hell was exactly happening, I took a step forward to attempt to discourage the squirrel from eventually killing itself by this repeated act, and it looked up, looked terrified, and ran off.

Mission accomplished. Squirrel saved.

As I strolled off into the distance, I recieved a couple dirty looks, and a few bottles of chew-spit thrown at me...but I knew PETA would be proud.

This was...until about 200 yards later, outside of Loso Hall.

I came to an encounter with another squirrel. Brown, with a tail, and other squirrel-like features. Perhaps the crazy squirrels brother. Perhaps it's sister. Perhaps it was my sister. Perhaps this squirrel wasn't even a squirrel, but a robot-squirrel that could evaporate my body-matter with it's lazer vizion. Most likely all of these things, this adorable little fella was staring at me for a good 20 feet before I started to approach it gradually.

I got about 15 feet from it...on the sidewalk...making DIRECT eye contact with me.

I don't know if you have ever made eye contact with a squirrel before, but it's kind of like walking in on your parents having sex, and then getting your eyeballs pierced and slit with razor blades in front of 10 of your closest friends.

Okay...it's nothing like that...but it's definitely weird.

I am now standing 8 feet away from this little booger, and he continues to stare at me. I stop in my tracks, feeling like Mark Wahlberg in "The Happening," but probably less good looking and better at acting...and I started looking around to people to see if they saw what was happening.

Nobody cared to pay attention, so I remained still, and then the squirrel started walking towards me. Which is when the urine started dripping down my left thigh.

I was scared. Terrified. Mostly confused.

Now that the squirrel was inches from my Sanuk Slip-on's, people started paying attention. A couple female humans that I hadn't made acquiantance with yet started laughing at me, probably mistaking me for Mark Wahlberg and expected me to start rapping.

Then I looked at the girls, and said, "Aren't they supposed to be afraid of us?" Then I started laughing.

They exchanged a polite smile, but were most likely thinking, "shut up...you pussy."

Now the squirrel starts sniffing my shoes, and I started wondering if I had forgotten to take my slice of swiss cheese out of my shoes. I NEVER forget to take that damn cheese out. How could I have failed this ONE time? What are the odds?

Turns out I didn't have swiss cheese in my shoe, or a rare toe-fungus, or squirrel feed in my sock...but I did scream like a pre-pubescent girl when this little critter touched my ankles.

Much to the delight of the on-looking peers, and their brutal laughter, the squirrel finally ran off after I gave it an ever intimidating "OH MY GOD...LIKE....OMG! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" and strolled into the palpable embarrassment created by that little bastard.

Since then, I haven't exposed my body to sunlight, or exchanged verbal communication with anyone besides my pet squirrel that will eventually be dinner, and I am emotionally scarred to say the least.

It was later reported on campus that someone had supplied a select few squirrels a potion that consisted of:

-Dragon Scales
-Peach Vodka
-The ear of one unfortunate EOU student
-Steamed Gypsy Blood
-Cured Ham Slices
-The urine of 1,000 fertile kittens

OBVIOUSLY, I met the 2 squirrels that were most impacted by this potion, and that's why they smelled my ankles and ruined my social life.

I have since obtained this potion, and posess it to use WHENEVER I PLEASE.

So think of that next time you are reading my blog and think "god this kid is a faggot," because I WILL FIND YOU and I will syphon this mixture into your morning glass of Orange Juice.

Hump Day!

I've been thinking alot lately about the reasons people go to college. Most people go to college to further their academic success, and open gateways to bigger, better things. Some people come to college to be social, play sports, get drunk and hook up with chicks. Others come to play Rockband, drink tang, and write internet-based diaries about their day to day adventures.

I, however, came to college for one reason, and one reason only. To hand-write assignments in an illegible fashion SOLELY to PISS my teachers off.

Today, I got an assignment back from my Health teacher, whom I am convinced is a convicted pedophile, so he automatically has a vendetta against me because I am not 16 or female. I recieved the assignment, i got a 40 out of 50, which isn't terribly bad, but it was the comment at the end of the paper that really made me smile.

Let it be known that I have turned in 2! research papers in this class, and the most extensive comment I recieved was "good."

But no...not today. Today, I recieved an actual SENTENCE from my beloved educator, as he wrote next to my score, "Your answers were good, some were too short. The syllabus clearly states that this assignment was supposed to be typed---it was painful to read."

P.S.- "Fuck you, you inconsiderate adolescent non-female. How dare you not wear revealing clothing to my class and flirt with me. Your actions are almost as selfish and inconsiderate as your handwriting, you bastard. Also, I hate you, but if you find a female counterpart to replace you, prefferably one that has a similar face to you, but is more slightly built, I will change your grade to an A." Love, your pedo-professor.

That last part may or may not have ACTUALLY happened, but the principle remains. The last time I was told my work was "painful" to look at, was in 3rd grade I brought a kidney stone to show and tell, and my teacher was just short of impressed. I'd like to think I have learned from my calcium deposits, er, mistakes, but apparently not.

Next, it was time for lunch, where I would venture to the beloved Mac's Snacks, where I am always going to find 2 of 3 things, awkward social interaction with the cashier, delicious food, and sexual inuendos on the chalkboard behind the register. Today, the food was terrible as always.

The cashier, who has awkwardly made comments to me all year, continued to do so when she called me handsome repeatedly and maybe threw in the term 'good-looking' a few times, then slipped me her phone number after making my purchase. Turns out it was a reciept, and she was actually saying 'good-cooking,' but I like to make up stories to improve my self esteem.

Either way, I took the awkward flirtatious interaction to be just another day in Mac's, until I looked up at the chalkboard, which read "Today is...WEDNESDAY! Hump Day!"

I thought this was normal enough, until I saw the writing to the side that read, "Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah."

Maybe it was because I was just verbally molested by the cashier, but I couldn't help but take that chalkboard to be remarkably sexually suggestive. The only thing that was missing was an extra line of text that read "GET IT!!!??? HUMP! HUMP DAY! OH YEAH! OHHH YEAAAH!!!"

Did I mention that the chalkboard was shaped in form of a GIGANTIC VAGINA?

Need I say more?

Today I was taking a test, and it became obvious to me the reason I am at college. And it isn't to play Rockband. It is to FLUNK tests!

Unfortunately, this can be nobody's fault but my own, because I went to the computer lab 30 minutes prior to my test with all the best intentions to study for the test, but instead of doing THAT, I went to the LAtimes website, and read about sports to numb my mind.

Then, once I actually got to the test, I proceeded to stare at the keyboard for a solid 5 minutes, looking at the various stains, wondering how they got there, and trying to formulate a strategy to take this test, but never actually touch the keyboard.

That task proved impossible, and despite the 5 minutes space-out, I finished the test first, and glanced around the room in a very uncomfortable fashion, wondering why the hell I finished before everyone.

Probably because I have no idea what I am doing.

I accidentaly made eye contact with the professor, the one who wiped his ass with my index cards, and his eyes pierced through my soul, into my heart, and out of my asshole as I was sure he was planning a plot on how to kill me.

I felt an immense amount of guilt, like I just basically said to my teacher, "Hey faggot, this test was too easy. Look at me, it's just been 10 minutes and I am already done. Yeah, I read about the Laker game instead of studying, and I stared at the keyboard for a good 5 minutes, but I WIN. I WIN!"

He looked at me like he was saying, "Just wait 'til you get your grade, you aarogant freshman."

Let it be known that NO WORDS were actually exchanged, but as far as I am concerned, we had a full conversation through our 2 seconds of awkward eye contact.

The test results are pending, but I will be sure to post them online once I find out, because I am sure you cannot wait.

Or maybe I will Twitter it. Which, for the record, might be the worst thing to happen to America since the Lakers loss in game 4 v.s. the Houston Rockets.

But the good news is...today was HUMP day, so that means the rest of the week is easy. Or it means the rest of the week wants to hump you. And by "rest of the week" I mean "lady working behind the cash register."

To college.

Things I am good at...

I have become increasingly good at several pointless things during my ''light'' spring schedule in college.

For example, I have recently tried this concept called ''shaving,'' which apparently people do once they reach something called "puberty," all terms that I am not yet familiar with.

I decided "manual-shaving" was the best way to go, because I heard it's a great way to get razor burns and cut yourself so it becomes embarrasingly apparent that I suck at shaving. I have gotten really good at both the former, and the latter.

Some of you reading this might say...well Sean, maybe it's because you don't have facial hair, and you are simply just skimming off layers of skin to make yourself feel more masculine than you are, you pussy.

To that, I would say, get your camera out of my lap-top, and stop spying on me.

Another skill I have acquired is how to deal with RA's who are automatically better than me because they have the ability to close the communal kitchen and write on white-boards.

I've had a couple run-in's with my RA's recently. And when I say run-in, I mean I charged as fast as I could into their wall, and they got really upset about it. It was weird.

Actually...I have become REALLY good at locking myself out of my room. It's always an excellent feeling slamming your door shut, going to class and realizing that you have no way of getting back in. Awesome.

So, everytime it happens, I pull out my Blow-Torch, and try to melt the door handle off, so I can get in, but then the RA comes in and they are like...um...Sean...blow torches are NOT allowed in the dorms. This is the last time I will tell you this.

To that, I respond, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH," and run at them with my blow-torch, because I don't like it when I am interrputed whilst Blow-Torching.

Getting locked out of your own room is always like a puzzle, or a game of chess, or a puzzle-chess game, and instead of using Pawns and Kings, you are using dog-feces, and if you win, you get an unfriendly scowl, depending on what RA you beg to let you into your room.

I have decided to rotate between a few nice RA's and try to avoid the 'un-nice' RA's at all costs...except for one time I forgot my key INTO the building, and an un-nice RA greeted me, briefly mocked me as I knocked on the glass window while it was hailing outside, and a Tornado was approaching.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! LET ME IN! IT'S COLD. AND TORNADOES ARE VERY RARE, BUT DEVASTATING!"

"I HATE YOU. I will let you in. But I will do so in a very un-welcoming fashion, while I hold a clipboard and I will ask for your name and room number and name, and pretend to write down important stuff, but I will really be drawing an immensly detailed sketch of my kicking the shit out of you, you stupid freshman."

"Also, I will not open this door, because I am an ass. And you must go around and use the door 20 feet to the left, because I hate my life and it's your fault. Also, I will proceed to blame you for everytime the Kitchen smells bad, you faggot."

"Harsh words, but thank you very much all-mighty-royal RA...please...may I kiss your feet?"

"Yes, yes you may, but first...promise me you will never use a blow-torch again."

"NEVER! I ran off into the distance, and there was later a mysterious pile of dog-feces reported in her hall the next day. Somebody must have been playing chess.

MWWWWAAHAHAHAHAHA!

All joking aside, 2 kids were arrested from my dorms this week for stealing Xbox games, DVD's controllers, and my baby from the storage closet. Upon being caught red-handed, the guys turned back the Xbox games and electronics, but insisted that the baby was in-fact not a REAL human, but a cabbage-patch-kid. Obviously, they were heavily under the influence of gasoline, alcohol and kleptomania, so I took a step back, showed them my Angelina-Jolie cut-out, AKA MOMMY, and they apologized for the mis-understanding.

But seriously...these kids seriously stole alot of shit and are now in jail. I would love to give some more completely inaccurate details about this REAL event, but this is a LEGAL matter, so I cannot further comment, other than to say I love my cabbage patch son, and he needs to clean his room or else I am going to hit him and never feed him again.

Poop

When a college student walks in after his 9 a.m. class to see the room has a lingering stench of poop and notices the windows are open in the 40 degree weather, and a Febreeze mist bottle is on the floor, one could be very curious.

Curious, I was.

Furious, I would become.

I was the unfortunate victim of the bathroom bandit.

I opened the bathroom door to find the fan on, surface wipes scattered about the counter, and an unfortunate mass of human feces covering the once-sanitary toilet and it's surrounding area.

Seeing shit on the floor was normal enough, until my roommate emerged from the depths of our dormitory, with an exhausted and appauled look on his face.

"Fuck dude...dude...I don't even know. "

"What the fuck happened dude?"

"Fuck...somebody shit and plugged the toilet...and just LEFT IT THERE! Fuck dude...fuck thisI tried to clean it up...Fuck this...I don't know, I am going to class."

Partially laughing, and partially gagging on the overwhelming scent of human waste mixed with cheap air freshener, I paced around the dorm for a few minutes, thinking of ways that I would NOT have to get down on all 4's and clean this atomic wasteland of shit.

I concluded there was no way anybody would clean it unless I forced one of my smaller suitemates to do it, perhaps use their hair as a mop.

So, I removed my clothing in fear of it getting shit-stained, knelt down in nothing but my old basketball shorts, and indulged.

Let us pause for a moment to reflect on previous times I have been mysteriously left to clean up shit. Those of you who know me--you will probably remember this. Those of you who don't know me--why are you reading this?

Freshman year of high school at a team basketball camp, some small school thought it would be funny to SHIT in the showers, instead of using the TOILET like a normal person.

Unfortunately, they shit in the showers on OUR level, so the camp counselors thought it was our team, even though I assured them that we are Aliens, and we simply do not produce waste.

They weren't buying the excuse, so our coach came in with a dust pan and a broom and said, "who's gonna do it?"

As practically the whole team raced to him, I beat everyone to the front and won the gift that keeps on giving: cleaning up poop!

Long story short, I got hungry and the job ended up easier than I thought it would be, SO EASY, that I would do a very SIMILAR job 4 years later, when I was working at a golf course.

I cleaned up shit off of the walls in the womans bathroom, basically swimming in human waste while my co-workers ate chili at my boss's house, which was on the golf course.

Sounds bad enough, right?

WRONG.

It was TURKEY chili! I love TURKEY CHILI!

I, however, do NOT love cleaning up shit off of the walls in a public restroom.


So, that brings us to today, where I used 32 surface wipes and 1 and 1/2 rolls of toilet paper and 3/4 of a can of disinfectant toilet bleach to clean up the Bathroom Bandit's doing.

It took me 30 minutes, and I have callouses on my knees and fingers, but it builds character, and I permanently smell like sulfur, which is nice.

This whole thing was relatively ordinary, until I started to wonder who was at fault...

Whose shit was I picking up and shoveling into a trash bag?

The only person in our room who used that toilet this morning was me, and i pooped, and flushed like normal with no problem. It was a completely normal shit.

I asked my suitemates, and they told me they were Aliens and do not produce waste, which actually makes sense now that I think about it, so they couldn't be at fault...

So....

CLEARLY, a very large person stumbled into our room in a drunken daze somewhere between 8:30 and 10:00 a.m. and they have a particular vendetta for me.

The Bathroom Bandit thought, "Man...I realy need to drop the kids off right now. Where can I do this? Oh...room 215? With that big tall basketball playing faggot? Cool. I am going to take a disproportionately large shit in his toilet, use an un-necessarily large amount of toilet paper, flush it just enough so my waste is bubbling at the brim, wash my hands with his very pleasent smelling hand soap...Lavender Plum I believe...and then LEAVE, in a flash! He will never catch me! For I am the BATHROOM BANDIT.....MMMWWAAAAHAHAHAHAHA."

Obviously, this happened, and while I was daydreaming this completely hypothetical yet undeniably real situation, I noticed a note on the door that had been there all along.

I suddenly realized why my roommate, who attempted to clean up the entire mess, was a little upset.

The note (which is now hanging on our wall) read EXACTLY:

Whoever plugged the toilet, I have 3 things 4 you.

1.) Learn how to shit.

2.) Finish cleaning the bathroom.

3.) If you ever clog the toilet again and leave it I WILL KILL YOU. Have no mistake that I will hunt your inconsiderate ass down.

(Page 2)

Also,
You owe me an hour of my life you Fuck Hole. If hte bathroom has not been thoroughly cleaned by my next poop then I will shit in your bed.

-Love, Robert.


Needless to say, the Bathroom Bandit obviously read this note after doing the deed, and shit himself. Literally.

Obviously, we have gone approximately 12 hours with no reported Bathroom Bandit sightings, so either I took an unusually large poop this morning and didn't realize I plugged it, our toilet is cheap and backed up, or a man with a gigantic rectal capacity, wearing a costume that looks eerily similar to the Hamburgular came in and used our toilet one time, until he read this very intimidating note and will never be seen again.

Either way, tell a friend, save yourself, and please...please god do not let the Bathroom Bandit strike again.