A screwed up computer and an impasse with my new book means an extra long, extra bad blog today. Deal with it!
Give Me A Break--Manasota Key is about to sink from the added weight. The annual migration to Florida is in progress and it’s playing hell with our little corner of paradise. Giant jellyfish washing ashore, you say? No. Nesting turtles, you think? No. Birds, you ask? No . . . well, no and yes. Let's call the new arrivals birds . . . Vomit Birds.
In progress now is the annual spring ritual in which tens of thousands of immature and largely immoral teenagers and twenty- to thirty-somethings flock seemingly here, and only here, to party, drink, vomit, yell, scream, and mix to the max. It is called “Spring Break.” I ask: Break from what? Certainly not from a classroom and a grueling winter of studies. From my observations, both inside academia and out, nine in ten of these so-called students should not even be in college in the first place and most would not know a text book if it slapped them flat in the face.
In progress now is the annual spring ritual in which tens of thousands of immature and largely immoral teenagers and twenty- to thirty-somethings flock seemingly here, and only here, to party, drink, vomit, yell, scream, and mix to the max. It is called “Spring Break.” I ask: Break from what? Certainly not from a classroom and a grueling winter of studies. From my observations, both inside academia and out, nine in ten of these so-called students should not even be in college in the first place and most would not know a text book if it slapped them flat in the face.
I interviewed a couple of Spring Break college students today as they woke up with hangovers at noon; I wanted to get their intelligent and considered opinion on the matter:
Colige Stoodant A: "Spring Break? Yeah, you know, we like go through like a lot of stress and stuff up in college. We have these like tests and stuff and like, you know, if we don’t show up every few weeks or whatever or if we sleep during tests, then, you know, like we may not pass and stuff. That’s a lot of stress."
kollage Stoont B: "Study is, like, you know, like really hard and stuff . . . mostly it's like for nerds and . . . ummm . . . book worms, or whatever."
Collegge Studunt C: "Dude, like if you gotta ask about stress you'll never know. I just need a fuckin' break from fuckin' school . . . . I mean it's tough. I been there like maybe ten or twelve years, so I ought to know."
Collegge Studunt C: "Dude, like if you gotta ask about stress you'll never know. I just need a fuckin' break from fuckin' school . . . . I mean it's tough. I been there like maybe ten or twelve years, so I ought to know."
From my own grueling, exhaustive, in-depth decades-long study . . . uh, from my own years-long study . . . okay, my own weeks-long study . . . well, alright, from my own however-long-it-took-to-write-this-blog-this-morning-long study, it is my learned opinion that the majority of modern college students simply want to party-hardy on their parents’ dime where they can major in drinking and minor in screwing for the next five to ten years. Then, when the chumps'--I mean the parents'--funds run dry, and after getting a $50K government student loan from Uncle Sucker, the party animals proceed to hang around campus bars for another five or seven years to get an advanced degree in some worthwhile subject like Post-modern Central American Indian Art Appreciation before finally joining the work force at age forty-five as an entry level coffee clerk at Starbucks
And so, in conclusion, from my own semi serious observations, I feel most grade school graduates who merely stayed awake in class are more educated than ALL so-called college graduates who didn’t.
And so, in conclusion, from my own semi serious observations, I feel most grade school graduates who merely stayed awake in class are more educated than ALL so-called college graduates who didn’t.
Spring Break? Give me a Break!
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A Tale of Two Tails—Last Sunday, up in St. Cloud (wherever that is), Florida cops showed up at the digs of one Desiree Schultz. Inside whatever dear Desiree calls a home, the officers found a fully functioning meth lab. But that ain’t why they came. Cops came because of a tip that a child had been mauled by two pit bulls on the premises.
Sure enough a four-year-old child was discovered wandering around in this sewer with untreated wounds to her face, back and head that would ultimately require fifty stitches to close. So intent was this “mother” to cook another load of her Hazmat that she had ignored the mauled child for days.
Meanwhile, over in Davie (wherever that is), Florida firefighters found a German Shepherd limping near a car accident. By his actions, it was clear that the injured dog “definitely" wanted them to follow. And so, a quarter mile later, the dog led firemen to another wrecked car. Inside was 41-year-old Greg Travers. Despite his own pain and suffering, the faithful dog tried to revive his master by licking him on the face. But it was too late and Travers was dead. It was a sad, touching story.
But really? Anyone ever hear of pits or Rotts doing anything like that? Anyone ever hear of these murderous breeds doing ANYTHING intelligent or loving or touching or valuable or worthwhile or meaningful or remarkable . . . or anything newsworthy in the least (other than, of course, attacking every living thing they come in contact with). Ha. Had it been a pit or Rott instead of a German Shepherd in the above story, they would have attacked and eaten the dying master first, then attacked the rescuers when they showed up.
Rescue? I would certainly hate to be down and looking for help and glance up to see a pit bull or Rottweiler coming my way. In that case might as well just kiss it goodbye.
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Speed Thrills!--I wrote about speed in the last blog. Rather, I wrote about avoiding cops while one is speeding in the last blog. Well, shoot . . . seems Senor Jose Romero-Valenzuela up in Oregon either does not read my blog or was not paying attention too many if he does read it.
Unlike me the other day, seems no one flashed their lights to poor Romero-Valenzuela to warn of po-po in ambush. Clocked doing 105 MPH, that truly was a “big ticket item” for Jose Hy-phen. But hey, what’s a workin' man to do? After being let loose with a promise to behave, our motorist was now in a bigger rush than ever.
Ooopps! A short ways off Speedy Gonzalez was stopped again, this for doing 98 MPH. Now thoroughly po'ed at his bad luck, but determined to slow down, Jose decided to play it safe this time. He would continue on to wherever in the hell he was heading at the speed of light at a much more reasonable 92 MPH.
Ooopps again! Added up, Jose received three tickets in less than an hour worth a combined $2,000. Now, seems to me that this poor boy is either 1) a mighty slow learner, or 2) he makes so much running drugs that it just don’t matter mucho.
Whatever, the good news: By the time he somehow manages to reach the official Oregon speed limit of 75 Jose will have earned enough tickets and fines to be locked away for three-consecutive life terms w/o the possibility of parole.
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Warmonger Logic
