A University Education
Human beings delude themselves.
They believe their provincial, backwater surroundings contain the strangest, most bizarre human entities and occurrences imaginable.
They consider themselves "jaded", "world-weary", and "experienced".
These pathetic souls have seen nothing.
Unlike them, I have spent hundreds of hours inside asylums for the mentally deranged known more formally as "San Francisco" and "Berkeley".
I truly had seen everything.
That is, until my visit to a modest little college town several weeks ago.
After surveying my living quarters for the next four years, I prepared myself for an uneventful trip home. About to start the engine of my car, I glanced lazily at the scene unfolding in front of a Marriot Hotel.
A black woman with a tightly drawn hood had approached a white couple.
In a calm, matter-of-fact tone one would use to ask "How’s the weather?", the woman inquired,
"Do ya’ have any drugs or pills ye’ can give to me n’ shit?"
After the couples’ eyes had finished expanding to three times their natural sizes, they murmured a sheepish "no".
Undeterred, the brazen drug addict started investigating the ashtray on top of the hotel’s trash can. She carefully, expertly picked up the cigarette stubs and sniffed their contents like a dog would an anus. Not finding even the smallest trace of marijuana, the dejected narcotics abuser walked away.
Before embarking upon the long journey home, I stopped at a local Panda Express to eat.
Stepping out of the car, I encountered the most deranged bum imaginable.
He was between sixty and seventy years old, middle-sized in build and stature, and had about half his right ear missing.
Yet, the first features one vividly recognized were the eyes and the face.
The lips were drawn in a permanent smile, the eyes gleaming with that internal ember all mentally unstable individuals possess. This action conveyed to his face an unnatural, doll-like grimace.
As I approached, the man randomly shouted "Hiiiii!" to pedestrians on the other side of the street in a voice as blatantly homosexual and high-pitched as any San Francisco fag.
He warmly greeted me as I drew closer.
"Hiiiii! I’ve never been to this restaurant before. I’m waiting for it to open. It says it should open at 11:30 am. There’s no one there. The door’s locked."
It was presently 11:43 am. There were several employees inside the building. The door was open when I pushed it.
As I entered, the man turned around, surprised, and exclaimed to me,
"Hiiiii!!!!".
Instead of entering the restaurant, he spent the next ten minutes greeting people with that tiresome, monosyllabic word.
Finally, as I was busily assaulting several different varieties of Chinese chicken and rice, the man entered.
He roundly greeted every employee and restaurant patron with a "Hiiii!!!" while extending his palm forward, shaking it back and forth in an awkward half-circle resembling the movements for Jedi Mind Control.
There were half a dozen customers in line, but the loony was undeterred.
He marched to the very front.
The shocked Chinese employee patiently explained to him why this was improper, slowly and simply, as if speaking to a Down’s Syndrome child, jhellwig, a liberal American politician, or an eroded rock.
The mentally challenged individual was upset. He stormed out and resumed his post in front of the diner.
I heard more greetings just outside the door.
Ten minutes later, as I prepared to leave, he came back. He was now the only customer in line. After ordering his food, he began to eat it in the most alien way imaginable; grabbing the food with his hands, swinging it above his head like a lasso, then finally inserting his entire hand and victuals inside the mouth.
As he spies me leaving, he utters yet another "Hiiiii!!!!", this time rubbing his balding dome with rice in the process. As it rolls down his head, a bright red tongue snakes out to catch several strands.
This was bad even by San Francisco standards.
The next hour or so in the car were relatively uneventful. Then, I stopped at a gas station. While refueling the car, I spotted an incredibly hot woman in the middle of the road.
She was 5’ 7", had long, curly, naturally blonde hair, abnormally large breasts, a fine, delicate face, and long legs.
She was wearing a tube top and ridiculously tight jeans that were ripped in strategic places. The jeans were almost entirely absent from her crotch, and her pink thong was completely visible from all sides.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
She took her both her hands and slipped them underneath the slim, lacy, undergarment, masturbating with quick pants of joy.
I stood there, stunned. How the hell was I suddenly transported into a porn film?
At this point, she had attracted quite a bit of attention. Everyone had stopped dead in their tracks to observe and listen to the "Unh, unh" she was fervently whispering. Suddenly, she saw a man in a new, jet-black truck with a fistful of dollars extended out of the window.
She promptly stopped, rushed over, and entered the automobile. It soon left.
Prostitute.
Scarcely an hour later, I witnessed a new spectacle. On the 65-mph limit freeway, two motorcycle riders, one clad in all yellow and the other in all red, raced past me at speeds well in excess of 100 miles per hour.
They were weaving in and out of traffic, one trying to pass the other.
While I had personally witnessed an illegal street car race several years ago, it had occurred at midnight in a largely deserted area.
THESE FUCKERS WERE RACING AT 2:00 PM IN THE BROAD FUCKING DAYLIGHT WITH HIGHLY CONGESTED TRAFFIC IN EVERY LANE!!!
Several minutes pass, and I hear police sirens, as John Law darts past me.
Several more minutes down the road, I observe the officers apprehending the suspects, snapping handcuffs on them. Justice served.
At this point, I was bewildered; a sleepy, calm, Republican region with low crime rates had produced sights that surpassed those of Berkeley and San Francisco.
How could this be?
Yet, my adventures weren’t quite over.
I stopped at a roadside store to obtain provisions for my arrival home. After several minutes, who should enter but three witches!
An enormously fat, pimpled, laughing Gothic mother of forty who bore an uncanny resemblance to this picture ((http://hitchhikernet.com/forum/show...p=2047#post2047) entered the store followed by her two Gothic children.
One was equally fat and disgusting, while the other was anorexically thin and pale.
For whatever reason, they reminded me of a Gothic Three Bears.
This thought association might have been triggered by either the hairiness, horrendous smell, or the dyspeptic conduct of the trio. I’m not sure.
The party followed their leader, the mother, an evil witches’ laughter resounding throughout the market. (Since all witches have to snicker in a menacing manner to scare all neighboring bystanders)
As they were inspecting which greasy, oily chips to gorge on during their upcoming Black Sabbath, something odd occurred.
While the younger, fat Goth lovingly caressed a bag of Doritos Extra Cheesy, the lean, pale one started smacking her mother’s ass.
Soon, the two were locking lips and groping, fondling each other on the breasts, hips, and inner thighs.
Then, the other sister joined in. Along with her bag of Doritos chips.
The other store patrons started throwing up.
The witches continued dry humping.
Onlookers started whispering in harsh, recriminating tones.
One of the witches slipped her hand inside the mother’s pants. The latter’s hairy, corpulent, wart-infested roll of fat was revealed and jiggled, literally jiggled with pleasure as she emitted a high-pitched screech of pleasure.
Half the store's customers and several employees rushed to the bathroom at this point. The pale witch started licking her sister’s breasts.
Having seen enough atrocities to fill my next six months’ worth of nightmares, I headed out.
Bearing an eye for detail, I had earlier spotted their car, a dusty Ford from the middle of the seventies.
I took several bumper stickers from my pocket and applied them to the automobile.
Accompanied by several protruding middle fingers in each case, the text stated
"I smoke pot and cocaine. It’s a free country."
"I kill cops on my days off."
"Honk if you see this."
"I drive over the speed limit for the adrenaline rush."
I then left without buying the necessary comestibles.
Once home, I was greeted by both parents. They were smiling, excited to have me back, and eager to hear my impressions of the university and the surrounding region.
Calm, patient faces.
I explain, "You won’t believe the shit I saw on my trip back here…."
They believe their provincial, backwater surroundings contain the strangest, most bizarre human entities and occurrences imaginable.
They consider themselves "jaded", "world-weary", and "experienced".
These pathetic souls have seen nothing.
Unlike them, I have spent hundreds of hours inside asylums for the mentally deranged known more formally as "San Francisco" and "Berkeley".
I truly had seen everything.
That is, until my visit to a modest little college town several weeks ago.
After surveying my living quarters for the next four years, I prepared myself for an uneventful trip home. About to start the engine of my car, I glanced lazily at the scene unfolding in front of a Marriot Hotel.
A black woman with a tightly drawn hood had approached a white couple.
In a calm, matter-of-fact tone one would use to ask "How’s the weather?", the woman inquired,
"Do ya’ have any drugs or pills ye’ can give to me n’ shit?"
After the couples’ eyes had finished expanding to three times their natural sizes, they murmured a sheepish "no".
Undeterred, the brazen drug addict started investigating the ashtray on top of the hotel’s trash can. She carefully, expertly picked up the cigarette stubs and sniffed their contents like a dog would an anus. Not finding even the smallest trace of marijuana, the dejected narcotics abuser walked away.
Before embarking upon the long journey home, I stopped at a local Panda Express to eat.
Stepping out of the car, I encountered the most deranged bum imaginable.
He was between sixty and seventy years old, middle-sized in build and stature, and had about half his right ear missing.
Yet, the first features one vividly recognized were the eyes and the face.
The lips were drawn in a permanent smile, the eyes gleaming with that internal ember all mentally unstable individuals possess. This action conveyed to his face an unnatural, doll-like grimace.
As I approached, the man randomly shouted "Hiiiii!" to pedestrians on the other side of the street in a voice as blatantly homosexual and high-pitched as any San Francisco fag.
He warmly greeted me as I drew closer.
"Hiiiii! I’ve never been to this restaurant before. I’m waiting for it to open. It says it should open at 11:30 am. There’s no one there. The door’s locked."
It was presently 11:43 am. There were several employees inside the building. The door was open when I pushed it.
As I entered, the man turned around, surprised, and exclaimed to me,
"Hiiiii!!!!".
Instead of entering the restaurant, he spent the next ten minutes greeting people with that tiresome, monosyllabic word.
Finally, as I was busily assaulting several different varieties of Chinese chicken and rice, the man entered.
He roundly greeted every employee and restaurant patron with a "Hiiii!!!" while extending his palm forward, shaking it back and forth in an awkward half-circle resembling the movements for Jedi Mind Control.
There were half a dozen customers in line, but the loony was undeterred.
He marched to the very front.
The shocked Chinese employee patiently explained to him why this was improper, slowly and simply, as if speaking to a Down’s Syndrome child, jhellwig, a liberal American politician, or an eroded rock.
The mentally challenged individual was upset. He stormed out and resumed his post in front of the diner.
I heard more greetings just outside the door.
Ten minutes later, as I prepared to leave, he came back. He was now the only customer in line. After ordering his food, he began to eat it in the most alien way imaginable; grabbing the food with his hands, swinging it above his head like a lasso, then finally inserting his entire hand and victuals inside the mouth.
As he spies me leaving, he utters yet another "Hiiiii!!!!", this time rubbing his balding dome with rice in the process. As it rolls down his head, a bright red tongue snakes out to catch several strands.
This was bad even by San Francisco standards.
The next hour or so in the car were relatively uneventful. Then, I stopped at a gas station. While refueling the car, I spotted an incredibly hot woman in the middle of the road.
She was 5’ 7", had long, curly, naturally blonde hair, abnormally large breasts, a fine, delicate face, and long legs.
She was wearing a tube top and ridiculously tight jeans that were ripped in strategic places. The jeans were almost entirely absent from her crotch, and her pink thong was completely visible from all sides.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
She took her both her hands and slipped them underneath the slim, lacy, undergarment, masturbating with quick pants of joy.
I stood there, stunned. How the hell was I suddenly transported into a porn film?
At this point, she had attracted quite a bit of attention. Everyone had stopped dead in their tracks to observe and listen to the "Unh, unh" she was fervently whispering. Suddenly, she saw a man in a new, jet-black truck with a fistful of dollars extended out of the window.
She promptly stopped, rushed over, and entered the automobile. It soon left.
Prostitute.
Scarcely an hour later, I witnessed a new spectacle. On the 65-mph limit freeway, two motorcycle riders, one clad in all yellow and the other in all red, raced past me at speeds well in excess of 100 miles per hour.
They were weaving in and out of traffic, one trying to pass the other.
While I had personally witnessed an illegal street car race several years ago, it had occurred at midnight in a largely deserted area.
THESE FUCKERS WERE RACING AT 2:00 PM IN THE BROAD FUCKING DAYLIGHT WITH HIGHLY CONGESTED TRAFFIC IN EVERY LANE!!!
Several minutes pass, and I hear police sirens, as John Law darts past me.
Several more minutes down the road, I observe the officers apprehending the suspects, snapping handcuffs on them. Justice served.
At this point, I was bewildered; a sleepy, calm, Republican region with low crime rates had produced sights that surpassed those of Berkeley and San Francisco.
How could this be?
Yet, my adventures weren’t quite over.
I stopped at a roadside store to obtain provisions for my arrival home. After several minutes, who should enter but three witches!
An enormously fat, pimpled, laughing Gothic mother of forty who bore an uncanny resemblance to this picture ((http://hitchhikernet.com/forum/show...p=2047#post2047) entered the store followed by her two Gothic children.
One was equally fat and disgusting, while the other was anorexically thin and pale.
For whatever reason, they reminded me of a Gothic Three Bears.
This thought association might have been triggered by either the hairiness, horrendous smell, or the dyspeptic conduct of the trio. I’m not sure.
The party followed their leader, the mother, an evil witches’ laughter resounding throughout the market. (Since all witches have to snicker in a menacing manner to scare all neighboring bystanders)
As they were inspecting which greasy, oily chips to gorge on during their upcoming Black Sabbath, something odd occurred.
While the younger, fat Goth lovingly caressed a bag of Doritos Extra Cheesy, the lean, pale one started smacking her mother’s ass.
Soon, the two were locking lips and groping, fondling each other on the breasts, hips, and inner thighs.
Then, the other sister joined in. Along with her bag of Doritos chips.
The other store patrons started throwing up.
The witches continued dry humping.
Onlookers started whispering in harsh, recriminating tones.
One of the witches slipped her hand inside the mother’s pants. The latter’s hairy, corpulent, wart-infested roll of fat was revealed and jiggled, literally jiggled with pleasure as she emitted a high-pitched screech of pleasure.
Half the store's customers and several employees rushed to the bathroom at this point. The pale witch started licking her sister’s breasts.
Having seen enough atrocities to fill my next six months’ worth of nightmares, I headed out.
Bearing an eye for detail, I had earlier spotted their car, a dusty Ford from the middle of the seventies.
I took several bumper stickers from my pocket and applied them to the automobile.
Accompanied by several protruding middle fingers in each case, the text stated
"I smoke pot and cocaine. It’s a free country."
"I kill cops on my days off."
"Honk if you see this."
"I drive over the speed limit for the adrenaline rush."
I then left without buying the necessary comestibles.
Once home, I was greeted by both parents. They were smiling, excited to have me back, and eager to hear my impressions of the university and the surrounding region.
Calm, patient faces.
I explain, "You won’t believe the shit I saw on my trip back here…."
posted by KIMaster at
11:22 PM
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