Who Throws a Shoe? Eastern Oregon Penitentiary.

Winter break is here, as is the snow, and naturally, so is the boredom.

According to an RA on my floor, there are 12-18 kids in the dorms, which means I am 12-18 times more likely to go insane.

Thankfully, pissed off Iraqi journalists keep me entertained.

If you haven't seen this, watch it.

After studying this carefully, and many many times over, it is clear President Bush was at one time a Ninja with cat-like reflexes.

Or a cat, with Ninja-like reflexes.

Also, apparently he used to be a comedian, saying in the aftermath of the shoe-chucking incident that he thinks the shoes were size 10.

But he also certainly must be a liar, because those shoes were coming at him at a rapid pace, and there's no way one could decipher the difference between a size 8 and a size 10.

Also, it is apparent that the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding.

Just prior to the shoe being thrown, Bush said a phrase in Arabic. He was trying to say, "First off, let me say It's an honor to be here, and I wish for great things and a prosporous future for Iraq and it's people."

Turns out, he said, "I will give one hundred dollars to the person who can hit me the hardest with a random object. "

The Iraqi journalist later went on to say "I noticed his dress shoes when he walked into the room. They looked uncomfortable, and perhaps a little tight on him. I wear size 10, so I was just trying to help him out. Looking back on it, I probaly shouldn't have violently threw them at him. Maybe next time, a gentle toss, or perhaps a hand-off would be more appropriate. My apologies. Obama '08"

That was completely sattirical and sarcastic, so don't take it seriously.

I like to compare being stuck on campus during winter break to serving a 2 week prison sentence.

We have to put up a piece of paper on our doors that says "OCCUPIED," cuz the RA's ran out of printer ink to say "THESE KIDS DON'T GET TO SEE THEIR FAMILIES AND HAVE TO STAY IN LA GRANDE FOR 2 WEEKS. ALL OF US ARE SORRY. REALLY, REALLY SORRY."

You get your mandatory physical exercise with 2 hours of basketball practice, and an hour of weight lifting. Whether you like it or not. And for the next few weeks, coach is applying a 'bitch' rule, where if you lose in any games in practice, the person who beat you has ownership over you for 24 hours.

The cafeteria is closed, so we are forced to provide food for ourselves. As a poor college student, desperate times call for desperate measures. So, I decided to live on Iams and Puppy Chow for 2 weeks. I have already developed a healthy coat of fur, I've been licking myself alot lately, and I was recently put on a leash and shock-collar because I bit the kid across the hall.

Woof.

My roommate takes the whole prison thing a little too literally. La Grande can get mighty lonely in the cold winter months. Ouch.

Someone gave our RA a night-stick, and I think she is taking it too far, because if I turn my music up too loud, or slam a door, or breathe too loud, I am immediately put in my place. Yes maam.

And to top it all off, I am paying 120 dollars to do all of this. Prisoners at least get to stay for free.

Or for our tax dollars.

Hm...I'm feeling awfully rebellious.

I think I'll go throw a shoe.

Until next time, my shock collar tells me it's time for dinner. Or maybe i just stepped out of my 20 foot radius. Or maybe my roomie is feelin' frisky.

Woof.

The wheels on the bus go round and round.

There's the old logic that says no matter how bad things are for someone, there's always someone out there who has it worse.

Your dog will die of cancer, then somebody will come up to you and say, "Dude, there are kids starving in Africa."

Your parents will get a divorce, and someone will enlighten you, saying "Dude, there are people who's dogs die of cancer."

Then you will find yourself in Kenya, scrapping for a bite to eat, and somebody will come up to you and say, "Dude, there are people whose parents are getting divorced right now. And some of those people also happen to have dogs. Dogs that die of cancer."

As if this is supposed to make ANYONE feel better?

Yeah, my dog just died, but at least I have a full stomach.

I've decided to apply this logic to my own life.

After a weekend that was just short of spectacular, finals week on deck and 3 weeks in the vacant dorms to look forward to, I've decided to compile a list to make myself feel better.

Let's call it...

"Things worse than a ten hour bus ride to get your ass kicked by the #1 team in the nation after being ahead at the half, and also losing to a team that your high school's JV team could put up a fight with...List"

1. Your suitemate deciding to move the drum set from "Rockband" into his room. The walls are very thin, and my patience is consistently tested in the form of "BANG BANG BANG BANG" in a rhythmic pattern, forced to listen to songs like Lit's "Own Worst Enemy." I actually used to like the song. Until it was completely ruined by Rockband and plastic drum sets.

"God Damnet. This song is fuckin' hard. Shit! I guess I'll do it again. Even louder and more obnoxiously loud. Oh, it's 2 a.m.? I bet my suitemate isn't sleeping. He's probaly at basketball practice or something." BANG BANG BANG.

2. Drew Gooden's facial hair.

3. Getting made fun of by OIT's fans, especially when you don't even play. I was literally just listening to Coach Looney give out instructions to the team, and I looked up, to see an older lady staring me directy in the eyes.

I stared back.

"Hey 42!"

Me: "Oh god...what? I'm just standing here. What could this elderly woman possibly have against me? My poor posture on the bench? Was I slouching? Did I forget to grab a towel for the starters when they came in?"

"Hey! Hey 42! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Me: "Really? Boooooo? Who does that?"

Her kids started to join in. All 5 of them.

"HEY! 42! BOOOO!!! BOOOOOO!!!"

Later in the game, i was gazing off behind the bench, only to find a kid who couldn't have been a day over 14 tap his friend on the shoulder, and whisper "Hey, doesn't 42 remind you of..."

As soon as he said "of," I immediately shifted my eyes from him to back on the court, in fear of more embarrassment.

So, for now, I am going to assume the next word uttered out of this kids mouth was "Brad Pitt."

Why yes. Yes he does remind me of Brad Pitt.

"BOOOOOOOOO!"

4. The Holocaust. That was pretty bad.

5. Staying in the dorms for 2 of the 3 weeks of winter break. And having to pay 120 dollars to do so.

6. Nickelback.

I feel better already.

Shifting gears, I have started to pick up on some of the slang that many of my teammates use on a regular basis.

For example, this weekend, I was accused of "clowning."

I believe the context was "Yo', I went to dis circus, and dey waz Clownin'!"

I was later informed that I had made a humorous statement, and i was indeed, "clowning."

I was also told that I am someone's "guy."

Last I checked, I am not romantically involved with anyone.

"Dart, fuck you man. But...you're my guy."

Thanks?

"Man, Chamillionaire is the Hottest in the GAME!"

"No man, it's gotta be Lil' Wayne. He's my guy. But he's clownin' on his tracks, na meen?"

"Why did you go and buy that jewelry/and waste your scrill/ when I buy green diamonds/ It's a baseball field."

If this keeps up, pretty soon I will be everyone's guy, I will be clowning all the time, and I will be the proud owner of a major league baseball stadium. If that lofty dream is good enough for Chamillitary Maine, it's good enough for me."

Until then, I'm gonna work on getting my body clock back on track after 6 a.m. bedtimes, and hopefully pass some finals.

There are things in this world...That I don't understand.

In college, there is an overabundance of down time. Particularly in the dorm life.

If you are picturing a-bun-dancing right now...we are on the same page.

Sorry that was cheap word play. I'm really Punny.

K promise that was the last one.

Anyway, after living in the dorms for what feels like 6 years, I've concluded there are several types of people that find ways to pass times in our luxurious, lavish living areas.

One of these kind of people are the people who live across the hall from me. I am convinced they live off of Tang and Assasins Creed. Except for one time, the kid across the hall told me all about this one time he played beer pong mixed with tang and it was "totally disgusting dude!"

My response to this was, "Get out of my dorm room. You smell like a sweaty Xbox controller."

The other night I was in my living room watching a Blazers game on a Thursday night, right after practice. I like to call this "me" time.

The kids across the call like to call this "It's almost Friday, which is almost the weekend, which means LETS GET DRUNK time."

One of the kids across the hall came in, obnoxiously drunk, accusing me of stealing his beer.

"Dude...they...dude...they told me YOU STOLED IT! Where is it? Where is my...beer...dude...you stoled it!"

(Before I could muster up a response worthy of his intellect.)

"I like your haircut. Sean...I like your haircut!"

He became very easily distracted, I told him there is a shiny object in the hallway, he turned around and out of the room like a kid with ADHD trying to catch snowflakes in a blizzard.

Point: Sean.

I locked the door as to not deal with him the rest of the night.

Silly me.

Five minutes later, I hear a rhythmic banging on my door, only to realize it is my drunken hall-mate, sitting at the foot of my door, facing away from the room, banging the back of his head on the wall of my dorm room. Over, and over and over, repeating the words:

"SEAAAN!!! I LIKE YOUR HAIRCUT! SEAN! I LIKE YOUR HAIRCUT! YOU GOT A HAIRCUT! I LIKE IT!"

Eventually, the sound stopped, and I assumed he either gave up, or went to bed.

Turns out he did both, right in the middle of the hallway, directly in front of my living room, in a puddle of his own drool.

As i stepped over his hung over head, with a trashbag in hand, I was ready to toss him in it. Instead, I took the high road, smiled, looked down at him and said, "Good for you!"

Good for you.

About a week later, he and his suitemates find that they are evidently now welcome to walk into my room whenever they want, only to ask the same question EVERY TIME.

The door opens, without a knock, they walk in, stare at me for a second, then ask me if Ryan or Dustin (my suitemates) are here.

Cuz they couldn't walk ten feet to figure out themselves.

And they wouldnt wanna be rude by, say, not knocking.

Then, yesterday, I was just hanging out, watching some T.V. eating some cereal, and another kid from across the hall barges into my living room, stares at me for a good 5 seconds. Stares at the TV for another 10 seconds. Then looks back at me and says:

"Hey man. What are you eating?"

Cereal. What the hell does it look like. It's cereal.

"Dude...that looks REALLY good."

"Yeah its this new thing. It's milk. And Grape Nuts. Thanks?"

Yeah man. Thats cool dude. So is Ryan here?

Instead of responding to his question like a normal person, I actually closed my eyes, held my breath, thought about how much I despise him and his suitemates, and I actually just blew up right there.

Like literally, spontaneously combusted, into flames, on the spot. Like that one incubus song.

Now there's a hole burned in my couch, but at least I don't have to listen to the Tang Kids bullshit anymore.

P.S. If I hear another South Park line, I am going to shoot my dick off.


Happy Thanksgiving.


Bah Humbug.

Potatoes and Annoying Teacher Tendencies

Sorry about the delay of blog entries. Unfortunately, the past 2 weekends, I have been in the shit-stain state, aka Idaho.

Last weekend we lost by 5 to Division 1 Idaho State University, and all you really need to know about that game is that one of their players looked like a hybrid of Frankenstein, Darko Millicic and that big Russian boxer in one of the Rocky movies.

I got to play, for like a minute, and in that span of time, I managed to get scored on by this 6’10 Russian man, almost turn the ball over, and twist an ankle.

Freshman year is awesome.

This past weekend, we were in Idaho for the Golden Rule Shootout, at the College of Idaho. We went 1-1 and I found out that there is a magnet taped to the hands of defenders and the ball, but only when I am in possession of it.

I think I played 50 seconds before seeing the opposite color jersey of mine, and essentially giftwrapping the ball, and gently handing it to the other team. Twice.

Here…have a lay-up!

I didn’t play much that game, or the rest of the weekend, and I can’t complain.

That’s the worst. Every player would like to think the coach is out to get them, and you are really really really good, but coach just doesn’t give you a chance. Then there’s times when you get a chance, and you take that chance, and take a shit on it.

That’s what I did, but then I decided to start thinking of sport clichés to make me feel better.
Kevin Garnett’s “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE” didn’t quite do it for me. Allen Iversons “PRACTICE!!!??” made me wanna throw up. And Shaq’s “BLUUGUGHGUGHUGHGUGHHHGUGHG BLUUUGGHUUUDY GLUB BLUG GULBB BLUG I’m the diesel, baby,” wasn’t exactly applicable.

So, I adopted my own modern day sports quote.

“Wow, I really blew it tonight. I mean…I played terrible. I think I will write a blog dedicated to my sucking. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.”

But the truth is, if you have read this far, you probably don’t give a s-word about how many turnovers I have.

But you know what you do want to know?

Every town in Idaho smells like a condiment you put on a baked potato.

One town we drove through smelled EXCLUSIVELY like bacon. Last time I checked, bacon on a baked potato is good.

Then, the next town we stopped in smelled like cheese. Cheddar cheese. Cheddar cheese on a baked potato is good.

During the rest of the weekend, I caught whiffs of ranch, butter, chives, and sour cream, depending on what town we were in.

It makes sense really. Idaho is known as the Potato state, right? So the cities of the potato state should be known as accessories to the baked potato.

So, like Florida, the sunshine state, probably has a lot of towns that smell like sunscreen, towels, sand, and UV rays.

mmmmm…smells warm.

This has nothing to do with anything, but I have recently started paying attention to all of my teachers annoying tendencies. The most apparent of them all is that my Biology teacher talks with her eyes closed.

Who does that???

She literally stands in front of class, puts on a power-point, and sleep-talks the whole period.

Sometimes I want to throw my pen at her just to make sure she’s awake.

But the weirdest part about it is she is never dosing off or anything. She is always SUPER energetic. But she never has her eyes open.
It doesn’t seem to bother anyone else, but it disrupts my learning process, and I would like to blame her eye-shutting techniques for the D I received on the last test.

My math teacher is awesome, but he possesses no control over the volume of his voice.

We will be doing a problem, and one moment, he will be quietly muttering to himself, turned away from the class, then the next, he turns his body, and basically starts yelling at the class.

“The x’s cancel, foil out the parentheses…AND SOLVE FOR X! SOLVE FOR X! THE X’s CANCEL! SO SOLVE FOR X!”

Mr. Gregersen, I would love to solve for x, but my eardrums are bleeding.
We had a fire drill last week, and I was shocked, because I thought those ended in high school along with lunch detentions and hall passes, but what I was more surprised at was the fact it took a good 3 unbearably loud BEEP BEEP BEEP’s for my math teacher to catch on to the fact we were indeed having a fire drill.

Turns out he thought it was someone’s cell phone.

No, professor, the building is on fire.

“SOLVE FOR X!!!!”

I don’t want to think about what would happen if my Science teacher AND my Math teacher were in a fire drill.

Together, they make one severely disabled person.

My biology teacher would think, “Golly, whoever is blowing their nose sure is being loud about it! I hope that tissue is Bio-degradable!”

Meanwhile my math teacher would say “Who’s getting a B grade in my class? Hmmmm…cancel the twommmhhmmm, divide by threemhmmmmhhmmm. Wow is it hot in here, or is it just this chalkboard that I sometimes drag my fingernails across to drive my students insane? Oh wait, it appears there is a fire. I can tell by the intensely bright light strobing across the room. Thankfully, I have a good set of eyes to make up for my lack of hearing.”


Biology teacher: I also have capable eyes, I just choose to shut them, because it reduces energy, therefore reducing my carbon footprint!

Don't Forget to Bring a Towel.

Every year in the NBA, they ask a few of the top rookies what their 'welcome to the NBA' moment is.

Some say, getting picked by Chris Paul, some say getting dunked on by Kevin Garnett, and some say, get me the hell out of here.

I'd fall into the third category.

Every college freshman has their 'welcome to college' moment.

And if your like me, you've had several 'welcome to college' moments.

Like...5.

I think after the first few, they should stop calling it 'welcome to college' moment, and call it 'you are a dumbass, get it right' moment.

The D+'s on midterms, the farts in the weight room, the other D+ on the midterm, more farts, and now...this.

Watch this clip.

And picture me, as Dwight Howard, and Kobe as...say, college.

Now take away the broad shoulders and jumping ability, and replace it with knee sleeves and a naturally born inept-ness for standardized tests of any kind.

Your end result: Sean getting shitted on by those around him in this awkward phase of life that is Freshman year.

It didn't really hit me, until this weekend, when we had our kickoff tournament here at EOU.

We were playing one of the best NAIA schools in the nation, and we beat them by 10 in overtime. It was a great game.

Except for one part.

Midway through the second half, it was a dead ball, and a large, bald, middle aged male in a zebra suit came stomping towards the bench.

He was a referee, and he was sweating excessively.

He looked eerily similar to the referee in the "Celebrity Deathmatch" series, Mills Lane and I was expecting him to saunter over and say "Let's get it on!"

Then decapitate my play-dough made limbs, while Weird Al versus Al Gore, the "main event" are up next.

Turns out he wanted a towel.

He literally ran over to the bench and asked for a towel. Not to wipe a wet spot on the floor, not to waive in the air while we were shooting free throws, not to lay down on a sandy white beach.

No, he wanted a towel to wipe the sweat off of his glistening bald dome.

I found this rather hilarious that an official in an intense game took a break to ask the home team for a sweat-sopping device.

Big smile on my face, gleeful as can be, the referee makes eye contact with me, and he wasn't happy I was laughing at him.

Sweat-head: "What are you laughing at?"

Me: Uh....hard work out there eh?

Sweat-head: At least I've worked a sweat up. At least I've been out here long enough to get a sweat going. Shouldn't you still have your warm-up on?

Me: I feel like Dwight Howard. Minus the broad shoulders and jumping ability. Plus the knee sleeves. Minus the playing time.

This bald man has just shit on me.

Now, I didn't catch it word for word, but I didn't play at all in this game, and I know he was making a wise crack at my playing time, because I looked down the bench to see several of my older teammates cracking up.

Not only was it degrading to no end to get made fun of by a Claymation referee, it was salt in the wounds when my teammates found it equally hilarious that I wasn't playing.

So, I did what any normal 18 year old kid would do. I got up, picked up my chair, and broke it over the top of the referee's head, and drop-kicked every single teammate that has ever wronged me.

Wait, no, that's not what happened at all. I believe i started to smile, jumped over the first row of people, and curled up into my grandmothers arms, and started sucking my thumb.

You win this time, bald referee guy. Until we meet again.


Then maybe I will have the presence of mind to stick my foot out subtlely while you are running the baseline, and send you skidding across the baseline on your chest.

Next time you need a towel, don't ask me, I need it for extra padding to keep my ass comfortable on the bench, right where it belongs.

Grrrrrr. Ape Nuts.

I've been thinking about that one Grape Nuts commercial alot lately.

The one where the guy is at the breakfast table, listening to his family complain about this and that, and the guy just takes a few spoonfulls of Grape Nuts and pretty soon, instead of hearing "I don't wanna go to school. Who's turn is it to take the garbage out?"

He hears, "Crunch, Crunch, Crunch, Crunch."

To me, this is a brilliant strategy, and should be implimented into everyday life.

For example, today during practice, i completely messed up one of the plays, and as one of two freshman on the team, I heard it from all of my teammates.

"Dart, pay attention. Did that new haircut affect your ability to think with your head, not your ass? Do it right!"

At that moment, I reached for my grape nuts.

I didn't have any whole grain breakfast cereal readily available, so I just started chomping my teeth together with great force, so it just made a big clicking sound, so pretty soon, instead of hearing about how terrible of a person I am for forgetting one of our 100,086 plays, I just heard

"Click, click, click"

Then, I bit my tongue, literally, and everyone started looking at me funny.

Damn you, Karma.

In Biology, it was one of those moments when a teacher asks a question, and NOBODY says anything, so the teacher gets really mad, and keeps asking the question, getting progressively louder everytime, so I blurted out an answer, that was evidently hilarious to my overly-environmentally-concious biology teacher, and all of my classmates.

Me: "Hydration Synthesis!"

Everyone within a one mile radius: (Pause to register exactly how retarted my answer was)...HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!!! IDIOT!!!!

My teacher was even laughing at me...

The lady who uses organic "doggy poopy bags" made of recycled grass and biodegradable something-or-another to clean up after her "children" when she takes them on walks.

Embarrased to no end, I sunk into my seat, and reached for my Grape Nuts.

Pretty soon, I was gnawing on the corner of my Biology text book, and instead of hearing "Wow, that tall kid who sits in the front row is a real dumb-ass," I heard "Wow, that tall kid who sits in the front row is actually chewing on his text book, and there is now a puddle of drool at his feet."

"I think he's teething."

Damnet.

I think i might just start carrying around pebbles, which are much more inexpensive than Grape Nuts, so next time I'm confronted with an awkward situation, I can just reach in my pocket for salvation.

"Hey dude...uh...your fly is down."

"Excuse me, I'd love to listen to what you are saying, but I have these pebbles in my pocket that must be chewed on."

"Crunch Crunch Crunch Crunch."

In completely unrelated news, I've concluded that Daylight Savings Time is stupid.

I have done no research to support my views, but all I know is I don't like feeling like it's ten, when it's really eleven, and vice versa.

Consequentially, Allen Iverson was traded to the Pistons, Sarah Palin will have authority in the whitehouse, and the couple from The Bachlorette just broke up.

Also, Jason Campbell threw his first interception of the season, and I'm pretty sure if the universe wasn't in total chaos, and it was an hour earlier, he wouldn't have thrown it, cuz it still would have been the pregame show.

"Sean, stop blogging, you're not funny, and it pains me to read your entries."

"Crunch Crunch Crunch"

Here's to hoping you don't chip a tooth. Goodnight.

They call me dishsoap because I'm so concentrated.

A great philospoher once asked: "are people naturally good, or are they naturally evil?"

"Must man continue to be motivated to do good? Or is it in our nature to do good?"

"If we had the choice, would we sit on our collective asses and play xbox 360 all day? Or would we go out and cure world hunger?"

It's an interesting debate, and in my Media Arts class, we discussed it, and I decided to take the side of man having naturally good intentions.

For the record, everyone in the class besides me concluded that overall, man are naturally bad.

As a population, man naturally know right from wrong, and act accordingly. They have good intentions, they want to do good.

No man WANTS to mess things up for everyone, no man WANTS to waste their life away. Man knows whats good and whats bad.

Right?

Then the girl behind me got mad because I kept saying "Man" instead of a more politically correct "People."

Then the kid in the corner of the class who spits chewing tobacco residue in his used gatorade bottle everyday thought it was "gay" of me to have such a hopeful outlook on fellow man. Err...fellow "people."

"That fag is optomistic...how gay."

Then it was halloween night, at the EOU volleyball game, and this kid next to me reeked of dog piss and whiskey, and was telling his friend all about his fantastic night.

Dog Piss kid: What up man?

Other kid: Nothin' man, just watchin' the game how are you?

Dog Piss kid: I'm fuckin' wasted! I'm Barack Obama! I'm Shit-Housed! This is awesome!

I figured this man who was smelling of domestic pet-waste was either having an identity crisis,
or maybe he was an avid John McCain supporter, as I have never heard the words "Obama" and "Shithoused" in the same sentence.

That is mostly probaly because Shithouse is not technically a word.

The kid put on a Barack Obama mask after sharing his drunkeness with everyone, and suddenly the world made sense again.

I started thinking about the discussion in class. Maybe I was wrong, maybe man is naturally bad.

The girl in the row behind me in the crowd rolled her eyes.

excuse me..."people."

Then I proceeded to laugh hysterically at a certain Jay Leno joke directed towards a certain person with a rather 'outstanding' facial feature.

I took a proverbial step back, and really started thinking about the discussion again.

Then some athletic girls started bouncing around in spandex, and I kinda lost my train of thought.

Where were we again?

Oh yeah. Man. Man are good. Good man. People. People are good.

Then I walked back to my dorm room seriously wondering why we call it halloween anymore, when it should be called "Girls get to dress up as total sluts and not get shit-talked about them by other girls, cuz it's like halloween, and it's like, just a costume day."

I decided that title wasn't really catchy, and as soon as I was about to write a letter to the national holiday-naming-association, some girl walked past me, and her clevage literally jumped out of her shirt and punched me square in the face.

Dizzied by the hormones, my mind traveled elsewhere.

I envisioned our conversation going something like this:

Me: What are you supposed to be?

Clevage girl: I'm a whore.

Me: I appreciate your honesty.

The cool part about this particular costume was she was ACTUALLY a hooker. Like some girls dress up as cops or school girls or slutty construction workers, but this girl wasn't playing any games.

She was just coming right out and saying it.

I'm a prostitute.

She even had handcuffs, fishnets, and Herpes to compliment the dollar bills hanging out of her buttcrack.

What were we talking about again?

Oh yeah, man is good. People are great!

Then the kid across the hall accused me of stealing his beer, and I was able to kick him out of my room before he spewed stomach acid all over the walls of his own suite.

I'm really starting to second guess this whole "man are naturally good" thing.

Then my suitemate walked into the room with a big bag of what looked like groceries.

Before I could even ask him what it is, he said "This is food for my picnic today. I am going to be nice to my girlfriend, and feed her food so she is happy, so she will have more sex with me"

Me: I appreciate your honesty.

Seeking some guidance and enlightenment, I took a stroll down the hall, only to find Ghandi, Jesus, Lance Armstrong, Oprah and Allah.

Suddenly, everything was ok. Man is good. Sure, we have our moments, but for the most part, we are good.

Then i cleared my eyes, blinked a few times, and found it wasn't really spiritual icons I was seeing, it was a whiteboard, with the words "Allison is a HOE!" and some more random explitives scribbled on the Resident Assistants "suggestions" section.

But I think the people living across the hall were named Jesus (Hey-zoos) Gabriella (which sounds like Ghandi kinda.) and their roomate owns a bike, and only one testicle, so I figured it was close enough to Lance.

Allison was Allah, and I was convinced this is the closest thing to salvation the dorm life at EOU would give me.
It's no judgement day, but who's counting?