To avoid waking up on the wrong side of the bed, I advise you all to either push it against a wall ornately adorned with sharp spikes you would normally find around an S&M fan's neck or hire a really fat guy to sit on one side (it doesn't matter which). In fact, why not hire him to sit right on top of you. That way, you can suffocate to death, avoid the following day you just know is bound to be inevitably shitty, and have a funny-ass story of your death to share with President Lincoln and that deer you ran over but told no one about.

Unfortunately for me, I did neither of those things. Signing up for college orientation is one thing. Being treated like the brown scum you scrape off the raggedy soles of your worn out boots (but of lesser importance) is another.

After dealing with the monstrosity they call Layla in the admissions office and befriending a 6'4" friendly freshman who walked me to the front gates, conveniently blocking the sun's rays from gaining contact with my melanin-deprived skin and turning me into an arab crispy-fry, my friend and I decided to have lunch together. Actually, she decided to have lunch and I, being fresh bread from the lap-band bakery, was forced to sniff the sweet smell of the bolognase pasta she was ruthlessly devouring whilst sipping on imported water I ordered to make myself feel special; water that couldn't have tasted any better if Jesus himself had pulled up in a Porsche and blessed it with holy Kool-Aid.

Grab your yellow pages and drag your finger down the page till you come across, "Fat Man For Hire; Will Sit Anywhere."

LOLOLOLOLOLOL