today I learned that despite the vast amount of tempering that my mind has been subjected to over the past years, there's still at least one thing that can freak me the fuck out.
There's this 40 year old dude in my playwriting class. He's 6'3" and kind of fat. he has the look of a recently washed and decently dressed hobo, though his ever-present BO doesn't comply to the standard. Also, cutting the ridiculous beard and scraggly hair wasn't part of the process.
this is in itself unsettling, but hardly mindbending, so I continue. Today in class we were to write down seven things we strongly believe in, to later share with the class. This dude stands up and says that he believes in national socialism, which for those of you playing along at home is what the fucking Nazi party called their brand of fascism.
It gets worse. Later on in class he was hitting on me.
I suddenly have a dire need for a bottle of 151 and a 2-Liter of Cherry Coke. That and violent retribution.
Now lets get something straight here. I'm not a homophobe. I've had dude's hit on me before, and it didn't bother me
this, and I'm sure this is understandable. does.
It goes like this. If you proclaim yourself to be a Nazi, you've already earned retribution. If you do so and hit on me, you've garunteed that your ass is grass.
The proper way to deal with this, of course, is to imprison him in a padded cell with nothing but a typewriter. At the end of each day, the product of this instrument is to be burned in front of his face. He'll keep writing to stave off insanity, even knowing that doing so is an exercise in futility. Eventually, he'll try to work out how best to take his own life using the typewriter.
Thats when I take away the typewriter and replace it with a word processor.
When I tire of this, I'll put a blunt, rusty knife in his cell, and take away the word processor.
Don't fuck with me.