The night before I am supposed to go home for Christmas break, grades come out.
The night before I am supposed to go home for Christmas break, my father sees those grades.
"You're not going back to college next semester."
Well, kids! Here's some advice from A Bona Fied College Drop-Out for ya! There IS such a thing as having too much fun. Way. Too. Much.
God damnit man, how is it that Asher Roth can stay in college when all he does is smoke weed and get girls naked? I'm being forced to drop out and I don't even smoke AND I have never gotten a girl naked, or even attempted to get a girl naked, or even seen a naked girl on campus. I mean what the fuck people. It's not fair. And yes, I am whining when I say "it's not fair." I'm whining like a little bitch and yes, I do plan on blaming every single person besides myself for this debacle. Like my RD for giving me a room violation because I don't hang my clothes up in my closet. THE FLOOR IS NOT FOR WALKING ON IT'S FOR THROWING CLOTHES ON DUH. And my English professor for always french-braiding her hair. I can't take you seriously if you're wearing your hair like my 5-year-old sister wears it, you toddler wannabe bitch. And the random dude who came into my dorm one night and knocked down my "Women in Bikinis Holding Power Tools" calendar. How am I supposed to study when I don't have a good view of a blonde bitch with a fake tan licking a wrench, you asshole? And my Math professor for being named Boris. No wonder I dropped your class, Boris. Because you're a bore. And because your name rhymes with piss.
Obviously, it's not my fault.
So, I wake up the next morning, the morning of Never Going To College Again, with the words from my father from the night before still brewing in my mind.
Father: "We're going to consider all your options and decide what you will do instead of going back to school.
Options? How many options could I possible have?
Option #1: work
Option #2: community college
Option #3: invest in a grocery cart and a piece of cardboard
How about some words of my own? FUCK THE WORLD!
HOWEVER. Now may not be the time to fuck the world. Now may in fact be the time to get my fucking shit together. And pay the Soup Kitchen a few visits while I'm at it. It's a good thing I ran into the maintenance men while I was moving out, or I would of never heard the wisdom they had to offer me.
"You movin' out fo good?!"
"Yeah..."
"You make bad grades o sumpin?"
"Yeah..."
"You gotta stick wit it! Jus stick wit it!"
"It's not really my choice..."
"You gonna go to anudda school den?"
"I don't know..."
"You gotsta choose yo friends wisely. Dat's all it is. Choose yo friends wisely."
Thank you, maintenance men. All I had to do to stay enrolled in a university was have different friends. If only I had known.
FUCK YOU MAINTENANCE MEN.
Because that's just not true. You know what is true? That someone AWESOME once went to UTC and someone AWESOME once lived in Room 324 and someone AWESOME has now said goodbye. And how did I leave my mark? With a deck of cards that all frantically blew out of my luggage in this huge gust of wind and scattered all over the place. And I left the rug in my bedroom, which, yes, still has the cat shit imprinted into it. Sure, it's not the greatest Au Revoir ever known to man, but I thought it was pretty fucking AWESOME. Like me, yes. I would like to end my farewell to UTC with, "I'll be back bitches." But I most likely won't. And now all I can say is...FUCK THE WORLD!
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