In my life, I pursue several refined, distinctly sophisticated interests. All of which I like to talk about frequently as I strive ever closer toward my ultimate goal of so strongly reeking of “self-indulgent braggadocio” that one day I accidentally fall in love with my own image, make sweet, gentle love to, and marry, myself and then boast about it with a distinct air of self-aggrandizement in the Campus Times. Indeed, my intellectual prowess and cultural elitism has often been criticized by ones of people for being too pretentious and out of touch with the proletariat. My plebian friends sometimes find themselves frustrated with my constant cultural philosophizing so often that they grab me by the shoulders, shake me as hard as they can and spit in my face, “Good God, woman! Descend thee from the clouds of heavenly intellectual superiority to the cool earths of our human stupidity, for it is only when you cease to devour the abstract theories of science, religion and the humanities that you can ever truly become one with the average man of meager existence”.
Ironically, I often find that such puzzling human behavior seems to spark, rather than halt, the movements of the whirring cogs within my painfully over-wrinkled frontal cortex, the large surface area, of which has doomed me to a life laden with the chronic, often paralyzing pains of intellectual genius, causes me to call out to the God in which I never believed and ask of Him, “Whyfore art thou didst burden me thus?”
Indeed, it was after one such shaking from one of my infinitely simple “chums,” that I began to mull the phenomenon of student “hook-up” procedures within the first month of school. I began to note a few puzzling, yet entirely fascinating, details.
Eventually, after discussing my thoughts with the most sexually charged of all of my friends – a gorgeous woman that we shall call here the Vixen of Burton – I came upon the theory that I subsequently titled the 28 Days of Male-Female Interconnectedness.
According to the masterfully crafted tenets of this theory, upon re-entering the collegiate social environment, both sexes of the species of man try desperately for one month to “pull” each other, as the British would say – or, for you crass Americans, “get into each other’s proverbial pants” – before the strict deadline of Oct. 1. Once this deadline has passed, any person of the male or female persuasion will find “getting some” preposterously difficult because of one of these following reasons – every single person has now found a relationship, socializing has shrunk to minimal levels due to a lack of motivation to leave ones’ room because of the cold or homework, or they are ugly or psychotic. Subsequently, college-aged students spend the first 28 days of school wandering about campus in drunken stupors, hoping that accidental gropings, while losing consciousness, will progress into full-fledged relationships that can sustain them until new desired portals of sexual release once again emerge from the depths of their caves, come the relative warmth of April.
The Vixen and I decided that the only remedy for such a frustrating social dilemma was to embark on our own, concentrated mission within the 28 Days to trick members of the opposite sex into dating us before we faced the inevitable, October-April sexually-frustrating dry spell. We devised a well-crafted and cleverly enacted power-point presentation consisting of our goals, as well as our bullet list plan of how we were going to realize these goals. As an example of the deep, emotional nature of our perhaps evil machinations, I have provided an example of the nature of the ideology expressed upon one of such slides – look cute and find hot guys.
The Vixen and I found ourselves to be in quite the state of emotional turmoil on the very first night that we planned to put our strategies into practice. Would the fish bite our bait? Would they notice how the Vixen’s shirt lacked any semblance of a back? Would the guys find me sexually unappealing after my ultra-sexy reference to myself as being “bowel explosive” in the CT? Little did we know what lay in store for us – the rejection, the tears, the anguish, the victories, the defeats, the twists and turns in the lonely and evil serpentine road that lay before us. If only we had been able to see the destruction that lay around even the very first of the bends, perhaps things would not have been as they are now within this barren wasteland of Machiavellian modernity!
But that, my friends, is a story for another time in the distant future, in another land, a different as of yet undiscovered dimension, in a place they call next week’s CT Humor column.
kaminsky can be reached at lkaminsky@campustimes.org.
