I was scratchin’ my bottom in Kudzu Junction when a polite epistle slapped my pan like a saucy woman. It read (with some guessers): “Lord Brandywine, Endowed Dr Thunder Chair of Intake at Georgia for University-College, Admits YOU! Welcome to Fun Sexy Slip and Slide Scholarly Studies Life-Changing Movie Music!”
I’ll be the first to admit, I knew not a goddamn thing of which the letter spoke, but its general fancy tone gave tribute to my betters, so I let loose a long whistle and hitched a ride on a potato truck, which made for gnarly, potatoey eats, and quickened my fate to the south.
When I arrived at Georgia for University-College, I demanded an audience with Lord Brandywine, Endowed Dr Thunder Chair of Student Intake, but found none of the peasants knew of whom I spoke. But I let not my educational dreams be dashed. So I presented my credentials, a half-frozen crow and pants I’d improvised from discarded wigs, and a frenzied murmur shook the campus that a real mind was come. Lord Brandywine cried into his fist and offered to sell me Mary Kay Skin Care Essentials, which gave my forehead a ghostly pallor. It was then decided that a scholar of my standing should receive “vittles unlimited” and so for the past six years I have lived beneath the campus Taco Bar.
But it has been a lonely six years. I have learned naught but the contempt of others. Below-deck whistles, as it were, are not appreciated. Few have wished for my conversement, and a number of students scattered cheddar cheese atop my face. A visiting crone in Middlebrow Studies even poured Salsa Verde into my eyes.
Their rudeness is the refuge of embarrassment.
I have learned I am to suffer, as I have learned University is a place of suffering.
I have learned bottom-scratching should never be an occasion for life choices.