The Study Commando(This is so SHIT)
I peered into the mirror happy with the reflection that greeted me. I was covered in camo face cream, I was clad all in black. Ready for action. I crept out my front door and began the arduous six minute trip to college. I had almost been driven mad by the burden of study and gruelling preparation and memorisation of sample answers. It was time to take matters into my own hands. I was going to terrorise the lecturers who had offered us the least assistance and get from them the answers I needed.
I continued on my journey to college. Darting from car to wall to tree to car to bush. I attempted to ignore the odd looks I was recieving from the people en-route to their 11 a.m. lectures and remain as covert as possible. Emerging from around a bend I behheld the imposing eddifice of my college directly on front of me. There was only one obstacle, the busy thoroughfare that seperated me from the main entrance to the college. I looked frantically for a pedestrain crossing, but I knew there was none nearby. I had only one choice. J-walk. I cautiously approached the thoroughfare, I could hearn the motorists hurling insults at each other and the screams of innocent pedestrians as the motorists swerved to mow them down.
I gritted my teeth and ran into the street. I felt the displaced from a car whizzing behind me whisk over my shoulders. I had made it to the other side safely. My mission could begin in earnest. I catstumbled all the way revolving door and after doing a few laps inside the door gained entry to the college. I had to negotiate the long, wide main corridor of the college without being noticed by any of the faculty. I pounced like a playful leopard from doorway to doorway, stopping frequently to check my camo in the handy compact mirror I had brought with me. It was now I had one of the most important realisations of my life. Military underwear chafes, no more surplus for me. I was almost home free when I bumped into Heather Chippey, the evil overlord of the school of commerece, my department. She looked at me, aghast at my militant appearance. I grabbed her by the throat and threw her through the door of an empty class room. It wasn't difficult, she is only 4'8". She collapsed on the ground mumbling about low exam results. I laughed in her face and told her she held no sway with me. But then all fucking hell broke loose.
Out of her "The management of marketing" book she pulled a small, exquisite blade. She had a weapon, I had my brains. Fuck. She swiped at me, I dove backward crashing into a desk. Ow. I sprang to my feet and dodged to my left as she swiped at me again. As she swiped and I dodged, I let fly with a killer right hook. I caught that bitch right on the jaw and she dropped like a sack of valentia oranges. "Oh yes" I said to myself and strutted from the class room.
I marched upstairs to the commerce faculty lounge and kicked in the cheap plywood door shouting "Hands in the air motherstickers this is a fuck up!" The look of utter confusion on those suit wearing motherfuckers said more than words ever could. I began rampaging around the longe flipping over chairs and tables, shouting "We want chilly-willy, we want chilly-willy, we want chilly-willy". I grabbed two of my least favourite lecturers and smashed their heads together, forcing them to combine into one putrid lecture, then I kicked it in the nuts and kicked in the face when it dropped to the ground. I picked up a coffee pot and drank it all down, then smashed it over Lynne Nuggets head, saying "Die bitch die." As quickly as the rampage had begun it ended. I had forgotten what I had come for and ran away home, pretending I was a Navy Seal killing Iraqi insurgents
I continued on my journey to college. Darting from car to wall to tree to car to bush. I attempted to ignore the odd looks I was recieving from the people en-route to their 11 a.m. lectures and remain as covert as possible. Emerging from around a bend I behheld the imposing eddifice of my college directly on front of me. There was only one obstacle, the busy thoroughfare that seperated me from the main entrance to the college. I looked frantically for a pedestrain crossing, but I knew there was none nearby. I had only one choice. J-walk. I cautiously approached the thoroughfare, I could hearn the motorists hurling insults at each other and the screams of innocent pedestrians as the motorists swerved to mow them down.
I gritted my teeth and ran into the street. I felt the displaced from a car whizzing behind me whisk over my shoulders. I had made it to the other side safely. My mission could begin in earnest. I catstumbled all the way revolving door and after doing a few laps inside the door gained entry to the college. I had to negotiate the long, wide main corridor of the college without being noticed by any of the faculty. I pounced like a playful leopard from doorway to doorway, stopping frequently to check my camo in the handy compact mirror I had brought with me. It was now I had one of the most important realisations of my life. Military underwear chafes, no more surplus for me. I was almost home free when I bumped into Heather Chippey, the evil overlord of the school of commerece, my department. She looked at me, aghast at my militant appearance. I grabbed her by the throat and threw her through the door of an empty class room. It wasn't difficult, she is only 4'8". She collapsed on the ground mumbling about low exam results. I laughed in her face and told her she held no sway with me. But then all fucking hell broke loose.
Out of her "The management of marketing" book she pulled a small, exquisite blade. She had a weapon, I had my brains. Fuck. She swiped at me, I dove backward crashing into a desk. Ow. I sprang to my feet and dodged to my left as she swiped at me again. As she swiped and I dodged, I let fly with a killer right hook. I caught that bitch right on the jaw and she dropped like a sack of valentia oranges. "Oh yes" I said to myself and strutted from the class room.
I marched upstairs to the commerce faculty lounge and kicked in the cheap plywood door shouting "Hands in the air motherstickers this is a fuck up!" The look of utter confusion on those suit wearing motherfuckers said more than words ever could. I began rampaging around the longe flipping over chairs and tables, shouting "We want chilly-willy, we want chilly-willy, we want chilly-willy". I grabbed two of my least favourite lecturers and smashed their heads together, forcing them to combine into one putrid lecture, then I kicked it in the nuts and kicked in the face when it dropped to the ground. I picked up a coffee pot and drank it all down, then smashed it over Lynne Nuggets head, saying "Die bitch die." As quickly as the rampage had begun it ended. I had forgotten what I had come for and ran away home, pretending I was a Navy Seal killing Iraqi insurgents
posted by Ian at 11:34 p.m.
5 Comments:
Do you have a rifle scar over your right eyebrow?
Even you're shit, it's gold. the essence of college distilled into a groovy story.
even when you're shit... is how it should read damn it.
why are your classmates chanting "we want chilly-willy!"? is that like chilly willy the penguin?
That is indeed a question for the ages madamme marquise. Oh and just so you know it was in fact I who was shouting the aformentioned phrase, not my class.
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