Before you start to read this, I’d just like to apologize to all midgets, old people, clowns, women, and anybody who owns a goldfish. Just kidding. I don’t actually plan on insulting you on purpose, and in fact am quite recpectful to people of all backgrounds, except Eskimos. Moving on, I’d like to talk a little bit about how I spent my spring break. While most of you were soaking up the sun in Miami, partying on the beach ’til the break of dawn in Will Smith-esque bacchanalia, I was busy striving to better the world community as a whole by helping to build homes in South Carolina with Habitat for Humanity. Just kidding again. In case you haven’t already noticed, I’m what some of my psychoanalysts have called a “pathological liar.” Personally, I prefer the term “awesome.” If you don’t like it, watch out: I have superpowers. Anyways, I actually went to Miami for Spring Break. Now I know what you’re thinking right now, and it’s probably something along the lines of “Wow, David Curtis totally rocks my socks off, and, if I happen to be female, I would surely like to make out with him.” And for those of you who are thinking something more along the lines of “Wow, David Curtis is pretty lame, and hypocritical too,” then I would urge you to remember that I have superpowers. Like Christopher Reeve. Enough about Miami. Like every good little white kid from the exurbs of Boston, I did in fact take a second vacation. The other one was to Nevis, a quaint little island in the British West Indies where swearing is illegal and people ride their donkeys to work. It was there that I learned about the peaceful and humane origins of the sugar industry. Yes, it was in fact pretty sweet. Especially the part when, and I swear on anything that this part’s true, you can even check with Associated Press if you take the initiative to look it up, although you most likely won’t if you take into account that you’re reading this rather than the actual news, a gay nudist cruise was stopped from docking on the island because Nevis police felt that the passengers would “offend local customs.” And the most ridiculous part: the ship’s captain’s name was Cornelius Plantefaber. Although I suppose, with a name like that, captaining nudist cruises is probably your best option. So after returning from my second vacation, I “hung out” at home all break. And by “hung out,” I mean went to campus and reminisced about winter term… BY STEALING THE TOP OF THE BELLTOWER! Actually, I did go to campus, to partake in one of the most grueling sports known to man. Some call it whiffleball, I prefer the more colloquial “whiff,” but suffice it to say the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Long story short, I still haven’t regained feeling in my right nipple. That’s why I turned to a more user-friendly pastime. Following in the footsteps of the infamous and internationally acclaimed Plaids McGee, who once set a world record by being the first person to kill a man with a stuffed emu, I gave up my sinful ways and learned how to play poker. For those of you who haven’t watched television for the past year and a half, poker is a game of skill, intelligence, and a little bit of luck. It entails playing cards, but that’s really just a subtlety that I haven’t yet bothered to learn. The important part is to look ridiculous while getting crunked on cheap booze and cigars. Oh, and every once in a while you should push all your chips in the middle, because it looks pretty sweet. Other than that, there really isn’t much to the game. Last week alone I made over five hundred dollars in street cred. When I wasn’t bearing witness to an adulterated naked crime or sacrificing various body parts in the name of sport, I spent my time collecting eggs at the local hennery. I realize that most of you don’t give a cluck, but I just couldn’t resist the chance to make a witty reference to the strange yet delightful mannerisms of chickenkind. After all, I do live in an old farming community, and as such have seen my fair share of cocks. And by cocks I mean roosters.
