Some of you out there may recall a few choice observations I made in the
Fall term about guys, and about math guys in particular. I would now like
to expound further on what may very well turn out to be my doctoral thesis.
Yes, much as it pains me to admit it, I DO have another reason for thinking
that guys are scum.
Let's face it. The truth is painful, but it must be revealed:
Anyway. Danny was tall, he was skinny, and he looked like a chicken. He was, in fact, a prime example of the Tall Skinny Chicken Boy. While this fact alone should have ostracised him from society, another even MORE disturbing fact came to light in high school, a fact that makes me blush with mortification even now. Danny, skeletal boy himself, the buttless wonder extraordinaire, was better at arm-wrestling than I was!!!
Yes, I can hear your horrified gasp, can sense the shocked denial springing to your lips. Hard to believe, but true. The shame haunts me still. My dreams resound with the mocking sound of his laughter when he won the arm wrestling contest in grade 10. Or do my dreams resound with his agonised screams from when I flew into a violent rage, ripped off his head, and used it as a commode? (See that? Not only does violence make you feel better, it's practical too. I'd always wanted a commode.) Beats me. Anyway, my dreams resound.
That is, my dreams resound on the few occasions that I have them. I've spent many a sleepless night recently, trying to come to terms with the fact that many people (for some odd reason) keep thinking that I'm bitter and cynical. This hurts me. I'm really a very gentle, loving soul underneath the layers of pain and trauma, under the disillusionment and frenzied, frothing, manic, love-to-induce-grievous-bodily-harm facade. [Yeah, right -- Ed.] I'm just a very misunderstood person, that's all.
Although I do admit, I tend to get a leeeeeetle bit tense when I'm around tall guys. I mean come on!!! There they stand, breathing all the fresh air, not caring about the hefty chiropractic bills I have to pay to fix the crick I get in my neck from looking up at their (dang and blast it!) faces. Oooooh!! I hate they way they snigger when they look down at me, their eyes drifting to the top of my scalp as though they're carefully noting every single stray (aberrant!! Aberrant!!!) flake of dandruff on my head. I HATE the way they stomp around, never paying attention to where they're going, never apologizing when they crash into me, never noticing the venomous glare I direct at the back of their departing knees. Or the way they smirk when they look down at me (those smug %#@*&%!!), saying that I'm wearing a really nice pair of short--
Short?! Short?! SHORT?!!!? HELLO!!! I'm the PERFECT height and everyone else is stupid, thankyouverymuch!!! SHORT?!??? I'm not short!! I'm concise. I'm to the point. I'm ... I'm ... ``the soul of wit.'' Short?!? Hah! I laugh at your poor sad ignorance. Hahaha, in fact. Hoho, even. Little do YOU know!!
Yes, I chuckle at the pitiful amount knowledge you have about the forces at work against you. YE-E-E-ES! My concise friends and I have devised a top-notch, highly organised militia of trained fighters!! We know everything about you. With a swift glance upwards, we can easily determine the state of your nasal passages. With another swift glance upwards, we can see if your fly is undone. Hahah!! Our power is on the rise, and our arsenal (of chainsaws) complete. We shall be unstoppable!!!
Rise up, my witty friends, and end the tyranny!! Strike back against the ungainly, mutant, unenvironmental foe!! It is time to implement Operation Redwood Mutilation, Torture, and OUCH.
Woohoohoohoohoohaha. WOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHAHA!! WOOOHOOOHOOOHOOOHOOOHAHA!!!! [I think she's completely lost it -- Jean-GuyEd.]
(Geez. And to think that people call me bitter.)
Sarah ``5' 3'' (in the mornings), and PROUD OF IT!!'' Kamal
Copyright © mathNEWS 1997.