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anada326
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.* * \ /\
.* O . . .. ..O .. 326 04 Apr 2001 ) ( ')
.* O O* o o o o o o o ( / )
* ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)|
* O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "The Sore Arm *
* O Conspiracy" *
*. o |\ _,,,---,,_ *
* /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ *
* |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by The Corpse *
* '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o
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'Anada is cat-friendly..o*`
I woke up this morning and my arm hurt. At first I thought I was
coming down with something, but my lymph nodes felt normal. I then surmised
I somehow slept on my arm and caused some sort of damage to it. I hope the
pain's gone tomorrow; it's by no means crippling, but it sure ain't
pleasant.
After spending most of the day in class, I now believe that the pain
in my arm is the result of a conspiracy. Who is conspiring against me? The
academic establishment.
You see, I recently enjoyed a week's worth of spring break, which
means I was too busy drinking Lone Star beer, dancing with girls I don't
know, driving around Houston, and generally having a good, non-scholastic
time to worry about classes, papers, work, or the other miserable things
that my four years in college foist upon me regularly.
That, of course, means that my university was displeased with me. It
didn't want me to live my rock n' roll lifestyle without regard for an
institution I can barely respect. So, in conjunction with my alarm clock
and, I suspect, my roommate, the shadowy world of academia and bureaucracy
that is my university made sure I paid the price for having fun on my own
terms.
I have written this because I wanted people to know that universities
have it in for you. They want to drain you of money, energy, time, and
everything else you might hold dear, all in the name of education. When you
are away from the school, you will pay the price, be it a sore arm, a
nagging fear of bad grades, or something even more insidious. If, for some
reason, all communication with me is mysteriously terminated, you will know
why.
One final thing: everything in your life that enslaves you--college,
alarm clocks, cell phones, breakfast, jobs, the Post Office--will conspire
with everything else that enslaves you to make your existence a treadmill of
misery. Get off of it while you can.
Hail Eris!
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( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada326 by The Corpse o
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