Halfway into the first of two lectures on Philosophy of Science today, there was this fat good for nothing worthless excuse for a human existence that sat down just behind me. Both in my row, the row in front of me, and his row all the seats were empty. He still had to sit just behind me. Crouched over his book, so I could feel his breath in my ear.
Normally I’m OK with that, ’cause it’d be a nice looking girl whispering sexy things in my ear.
And it would be a dream.
This was a fat bloke and a nightmare.
(I just now got an SMS from my sister informing me that today she’s a lemming…)
(Anyway… Moving on..)
My 1337 ninja skills are so well adapted to my entire being, that for me they are like reflexes. I walk around, somebody points a gun at me, and suddenly I’ve chopped his head off. I have learned to control it, but today my 1337 ninja skills wanted to bob my head back really fast to smash the fat dude’s teeth in. I’m glad I didn’t, ’cause the backs of the benches have really sharp edges, and I easily could have chopped my own head off by pure strength.
So what? Have I got a problem with fat people?
Not in general, no.
Have I got a problem with fat dudes breathing in my ear throughout a two hour lecture?
Indeed I have.
He made these sounds, you see. Expelling gas noisily from the stomach through the mouth. And not these funny burps that the burper and anyone can laugh of, no, but gutty, uncomfortable sounds of an organic machinery in internal collapse, mixed with lactose-smelling gas emitting from the chemical decomposition of cheese products and Original Coca Cola®™, deep down in the bowel regions.
The belching didn’t at first even classify as human sounds!
It could just as well have been the first signs of the end of days.
Just imagine sitting there, having arrived just minutes prior to the lecture, a keen student you are, writing down notes and trying at best to focus your entire attention on what the hairless monkey by the blackboard is trying to convey; when some sloth-looking biped with a pony tail and a bottle of coke selects you as his target for acting out his perverse fecophilia fantasies. Wouldn’t you too Kung Fu his ass?
Of course you would.
I would too. If it hadn’t been for my flawless Prana-bindu training that allows me to be tranquille as a lemming in a butterfly jar even though all hell breaks loose, I would have done so too. Without it I’d have fly-kicked his head off, thrown the whale-like corpus to this open area between the trees outside my faculty, closed off a safe radius of a kilometer and alerted the authorities of the impending gas explosion. The fumes contained in that body could surely have wiped out a small country.
The lectures were ok, but they really need to add a little more spiff to it.