Everybody Should Just Die: For Reals
By Spider Jerusalem
Cranky Bastard

It’s been a rough semester. There’s been plenty to hate, and plenty of it has already been addressed in this section, but your Uncle Spider still has some venom left to spew, so you might as well let me get it out of my system.

First and most obvious, morning classes. And by morning classes, I mean anything before 2:45. What the hell were the people smoking who came up with this festival of idiocy (and where can I get some)? Who in their right mind would want to go to classes while the sun is still up and more interesting things can be done? Why, just think: while the sun is shining on a beautiful Claremont day, you could sunbathe out on Walker Beach, or play roller hockey. Or you could play roller hockey while you sunbathe with hedgehogs. Actually, now that I think about it, hedgehogs are illegal in this state, so maybe not. Well, there go my weekend plans. Anyway, those morning classes are ridiculous. You might say they’re the very definition of weak sauce.

Next, the bikers. Oh, those bikers. Bicycles: the silent killers. I swear those psychos travel in packs, one after the other, but just far enough apart that if you’re lucky enough to get out of the way of the first one coming up from behind (and if you are, you must have supersonic hearing that allows you to hear Eskimo heart beats in Alaska), you’ll walk right into the next silent bi-wheeled messenger of death. However, since the riders are probably more likely to skid face-first on the pavement when the two of you collide, I can only conclude that campus bikers must be suicidal existentialists who know of no better way to cure their constant nausea than to turn themselves into high-speed deathtraps and take out as many pedestrians as they can before the eternal numbness sets in. Suddenly those Harvey Mudd underground tunnels don’t sound like such a bad idea.

And to all of you CMC students who glut up Frary every Sunday evening: what the hell is your deal? Don’t you have your own incredible dining hall that’s all organicy and everything? I seriously see way too many of you people every Sunday at dinner time, slowing down every line and making the serving area look more like a can of sardines that got invaded by a bunch of bulky, loud, football-playing, food-spilling, jock sardines that all line up right at 5:30 just to make sure no actual Pomona students can get any of the good food. Go to Scripps instead or something. They have sushi there. Or better yet, go to Harvey Mudd where they’re easier to beat up. But don’t go to Pitzer. Pitzer’s down.

And you, Man in the Macintosh. Who are you, anyway?

Aside from those gripes, I think I’m pretty much spent. Oh, hold on, I have a little more: Harvey Mudd parties that only allow themselves and Scripps Students? Frustrating. Constant, ridiculously loud jackhammers just outside of my 1:15 in Mason? Infuriating. Those little bitty paper cups in Frary? Needless. Only 24 hours in a day? Unfortunate.

The Collage? Humorous. Okay, that should be all.