OMGJeremy

Guide To Making College Boredom Your Friend

We’ve all been there. You’re half-way through some class, about to enter a comatose state. Meanwhile, the big chunk of styrofoam you call a “professor” is chattering away endlessly at the front of the room. You’d rather get a rectal exam than sit there for one more minute. Situations like these usually result in murder-suicides… and occasionally rectal exams. In an effort to reduce such unpleasantries, I’ve compiled a list of activities to occupy your bleak minds while you sit through such classes as “Advanced Economics,” “Integral Calculus,” and “Busy Yourself By Trying To Catch Your Farts In Your Hand While The Professor Shows Up Half An Hour Late.”

The first thing you have to realize is that only 5% of the stuff covered in class will be on the exam. By convincing your teachers that anything they have to say is irrelevant and a waste of your precious time, you can speed up the lecture dramatically. Don’t worry if they appear irritated and say things like “shut your punk face.” Just keep working at them until they see things your way. Here’s an example:

Professor: And on the left femur you can see where this person was gnawed on by a bear. I’ll pass the bone around for you to look at.
Me: Will we need to look at bones on the exam?
Professor: N…no.
Me: Then I don’t want to be handling no grungy, nasty bones.
Professor: Fine. Nobody’s making you.
Me: Also, people over 200 pounds should not be wearing vinyl pants.

Imagine this dog in vinyl pants DO IT

That last comment came from a particular experience a day earlier which was really nasty because you could see her vulva pressing up against the zipper. But anyway, I’m not paying an exorbitant tuition so that I can be hypnotized by my teacher’s bulging crotch. And once again my disgust for humanity has made me lose my train of thought. Oh yes, useless class material. Of course, there are some classes that are just too damn useless to sit through anyway.

Particularly Useless Courses:

Philosophy: This isn’t so much a class as it is a fashion show for pretentious half-wits to show off their “learnedness.” It’s like those anorexic models that prance down runways wearing swans or garbage bags or Hello Kitty masks or whatever the hell is “in style.” And then we laugh, because since we’re not flamboyant New Yorkers, we’re aware of how ridiculous they look but they don’t seem to care because they’re so damn pretentious and are always taking the bloody books you need out of the library and wait a month before returning them and… where was I? Something about Hello Kitty?

English: You can already speak the language. It’s not like you’ll ever be asked to discuss the ironic fallacy of a Drive-Thru menu, or sign your welfare check in haiku form, though admittedly that would be pretty fucking cool.

Computer Science: People sit through years and years of computer science only to produce such buggy pieces of garbage as Microsoft Windows. So creating your own amateur program can only end in a cataclysm. Skip it. Please. Because I’d rather not play your Tetris simulator, only to have my computer crash, and erase my hard drive.

Psychology: It’s a simple fact most people won’t trust you to clean their pool without urinating in it. So why would they let you tamper with their mental health? Thankfully, everything they teach you in this class is completely false. Besides, there’s nothing you can learn in formal psychology that you can’t learn from Dr. Phil and his “in-your-face-uh-huh-sista-you-go-girl” method of treating mental illness.

But back to ways to fight boredom…

If you’re like me, you’re perfect and never make mistakes. So why not put your eraser to good use? Simply stick four thumbtacks into it, draw some flashy streaks along the sides, and you’ve got yourself a sporty eraser-mobile! Now you can really “burn rubber”! Get it? Burn? Rubber? While you’re playing, accompany it by making engine noises. This, combined with 500 milligrams of ecstasy, will give the realistic sensation of being at a NASCAR race. And who can resist that?

Note: unless you are from Daytona or have Down’s syndrome, the above method will not work.

Once again, I'd prefer the rectal examination.

Playing with stationery not your bag? That’s okay. Try asking utterly inane questions to your fellow classmates. They’re as desperate for human contact as you are, so they’ll be thrilled simply by you making eye-contact with them. Here’s an imaginary conversation I made up that really happened but which I repressed with alcohol:

Professor: And that’s how you find the basis of the vector set.
Me (to classmate 1): Is “vector” spelled with one “k” or two?
Classmate 1: *no response*
Me: Forgiving my English. I recently move here to your glorious freedom country from the destitute, war-torn pits of Alberta.
Classmate 1: Aren’t you the guy who was nearly expelled for filling the server the porn?
Me: That was never verified!
Professor: And with that, you can prove that the set V spans the subset W.
Me (to classmate 2): What did he just say? Spams what? W? What class is this?
Classmate 2 (in slurred Mandarin accent): Shut up!
Me: No need to be so edgy. It’s not like you’ll need to know this stuff when you go back home to your rice paddies.

This imaginary conversation resulted in an imaginary broken jaw and imaginary academic probation.

Offending others not your thing either? Super. I have one more card up my sleeve. It’s a little game I like to call “faking head trauma.” As Mariah Carey and NASA both already know, getting attention when you don’t deserve it is a great way to pass the time. Clutch your head and fall to the ground moaning. Feel free to point to an Arab student and shout “the terrorist hit me!” to further certify your claim of injury. This will evoke sympathy from your professor and classmates and hopefully lead to a guest spot on CNN’s Crossfire.

An excellent use of time and energy. Watch soon for my article on dissipating prison boredom.

So there you have it. Three no-fail* methods with the Canadian Chris stamp of guarantee**. You have my word***, under the contract of my heart****, that you will never be bored again!*****

* not guaranteed
** totally worthless
*** about as solid as baby feces
**** I have no heart
***** The best part was when I lied