Note: This column was written during my senior year at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.
Paul Ryan, Columnist
Do you know what I hate? Of course you don’t! And since it’s now the Christmas season, and I’m feeling especially bitter, depressed and anxious to take it all out on others, I’m forcing you to sit and listen to a list of things that I really hate. Enjoy my pain!
Things Paul hates:
—When, after the Promethean comes out, the Chancellor pats me on the butt and says, “Nice job, Sparky.”
—When I go into a men’s restroom stall and find a copy of the Promethean on the floor, open to the page my column is on. Oh God, how that creeps me out.
—When I say something stupid within earshot of people in the theatre department, and they give me that “smart theatre people look”, like I’m some big idiotic freak (I’m not saying they’re wrong, I’m just saying I hate it).
—When the snack bar announces order number 69, and I yell “Whoooo! Yeah! 69!” and I’m the only one who seems to enjoy it.
—When I go to a UWS theatre production and there’s no nudity or jokes about underpants in it.
—When the Promethean shuts down my attempts to secretly insert nudity and jokes about underpants in it.
—People who blow their nose and then look at it.
—When I order chicken mcnuggets at McDonald’s, and the lady behind the counter asks if I “want sauce on my nuggets.”
—When there’s no paper towels in the restroom. Here’s a little bit of trivia to think about: you get a lot of funny looks when you walk out of the bathroom with soaking wet hands.
—People who wear the same shirt I do.
—When Tom Notton bans me from speaking in his class because of certain “magic marker-related incidents” that I’d rather not discuss in this column.
—When the editorial staff rejects funny column titles I think up, such as, “I’m not quick to attack those who critique me, you bitch.”
—Them damn monkeys. They won’t be laughin’ at me no more. I’ll show them. Damn monkeys. Foolin’ with my trampoline, eatin’ my puddin’, lettin’ droppings on me all day. They’ll pay. Oh yes, those damn monkeys sure will pay.
—When little kids say I’m a “phony baloney with a pony named Tony.”
—The fact that on KISS’ saturday night retro radio show, somebody always requests the Ghostbusters theme song.
Now that you know what I hate, you are no longer allowed to hate what I hate. These are mine. Go find your own giant Christmas bag of bitterness, you filthy thief! Hating what I hate will only bring you Christmas beatings, so go find your own! Oh, and by the way…merry Christmas.