Neoconservatism is the new black

Here at Harvard I have a really cool schedule, consisting of nine hours of class a week, and meetings only three days a week. It's so cool that if I wake up early enough to eat a warm breakfast (it's happened twice so far), I might even show up. When I do I mostly learn about dead white guys. I'm not too concerned with dead white guys, unless they can teach me how to make money, get laid, or live forever, which they clearly can't, since they're dead. So most of the time I skip class and get notes from friendly British girl upstairs who habitually says adorable things like "quite," "spirits," "wanker," and "fuck a sheep" and apparently came to America for nefarious reasons having to do with cultural imperialism. I like her a lot, but not, you know, in that way. What I mean is I don't want to fuck a sheep. But then, she's growing on me, so we'll see.

The point I'm trying to make is that since I have so much free time, I mostly go around starting friendly debates with people, usually about AIDS, rape, or whether or not Jesus Christ smoked marijuana (he did). To do this I employ the Socratic method, something I'm told is very popular in Harvard classrooms. Here's an example:

TJ: Hey, I'm TJ. I live in Mathews and I like Computer Science.
Me: Is it definitely rape if she only says stop once?
TJ: Um...why--well, yes, I guess. But--
Me: Well how are you supposed to know if stop is referring to intercourse or something else, like say you're sucking her nips?
TJ: Did...did you really just say nips? Out loud?
Me: And what if she doesn't speak any English and you don't understand Armenian?
TJ: You...you didn't even tell me your name.
Me: My heart has been broken too many times, TJ. I need a man's strong embrace.
TJ: I was just trying to be friendly...
Me: But what is friendship, anyway?

The important thing is not whether you're right or wrong, only that you establish a meaningful dialogue. Once you've done that, class becomes unnecessary. Class is just like a dialogue, only it's between a flock of sheep and a wood-chipper. Does that analogy hold up under any scrutiny? Doesn't matter. Like everything else I write, I'm not handing this in.

Occasionally people approach me asking for directions, and every time I try to put on a different fake accent. I do this because people asking for directions are generally from out-of-town, don't know a Boston accent from a well-articulated fart, and could reasonably believe that, as a Harvard student, you're from anywhere in the whole world. I get creative with them, too; the other day I decided to pronounce all my Vs as Ws, all my Hs as Ys, and to hiccup at every schwa. Today I decided to thump my chest whenever I use an infinitive or imperative. Looking back, I guess I'm not very good at this game. That isn't an accent so much as a social more.

I met a really lovely girl the other day, only to realize she was actually from Boston College. So I guess she wasn't lovely after all. They do a lot of coke over there.

Since today is Friday, and I don't have any classes, I decided to go down to the Charles and jump off the footbridge, which, incidentally, is what everyone is doing these days. It turned out to be a bad idea. For some reason there are actually metal spikes under the bridge. I know this because a girl came out with one of them sticking through her calf. They put her in a whistling truck and some people were crying. Cambridge can be really weird sometimes.

I love to play pranks on people. One of the Freshman dorms is called Wigglesworth. The T runs right under it, so every five minutes you can feel a faint rumbling in the rooms and you can hear a earthquake-like roar in the basement common room. None of my pranks have anything to do with this. I just thought it was interesting. I did meet a girl from there at a party, though. She was Japanese so I assumed she liked Pokemon. I asked her if she wanted to see my Diglet. She said she wasn't interested unless it was a Dugtrio. I said with a little more training I'm sure it would evolve. Then she laughed, hissed, slapped me in the face, and flew away. With my heart. For the rest of that weekend I played Pokemon Red nonstop. That's not code for masturbating. I found out later that the girl was actually a bat. I guess I was pretty drunk.