In theory, it seems like it would be difficult to convey anger effectively on this piece of grayish, smelly newsprint. Real fury is three-dimensional; can you see my banging fists and hear my cracking voice? Honest-to-God, tangible vitriol burns in more ways than one, like its close cousin alcohol. If this paper were burning. well then it would be unreadable.
These are falsities. All that drivel just makes a big bowl of wrong. I say now to you: Know my wrath by the amount of exclamation points that follow it. Trust me, it's more accurate than a yardstick. Two of them mean my voice is getting shrill, five imply I'm getting out my shotgun and 10 suggest I'm rounding second and on my way to my third heart attack.
So get ready for this blitzkrieg.
All you wannabe open-minded intellectuals indulge in irrelevant idiocy instead of actual important issues!!!!!!!!!!!! (12 angry-call a doctor). It thoroughly offends me!!! There's a war going on, people!!!!
How can you spend your time discussing trifling matters confined to a few square miles of campus?
Our national leadership is eroding our rights like a tropical hurricane!
The misguided priorities of the masses are contaminating candid discussion like a disagreeable plague!! I was having a casual conversation with a professor, innocently pushing an informal, liberal agenda when he posed a question about campus greek life.
Greek life?! Thousands are dying daily in Africa, religious tensions are exploding to nuclear proportions, and all you can ask about is greek life? There's a war going on, people!!!!
I'm so pissed I could punch a hole in the wall!
It gets worse. Sitting down to lunch on a sunny afternoon with a friend, I was expecting an equally bright debate concerning campaign finance reform. But lo, be and hold, what does he ask me instead? "How was your day?"
My day?!?!!?!? JoJo is almost 16, Britney and K-Fed broke up, and all you can ask me about is my day? There's a war going on, people!!!!
Have you seen my pacemaker anywhere? I'm so mad I seem to have lost it.
Finally, just when my voice box is starting to repair itself, I'm engaged in mature dialogue with the sandwich lady at Alpine and she asks if "I want a pickle with that."
A pickle with that!?!?!?!? A Dukie got voted sexiest brain researcher, quadrangle barbecues are ineffective at increasing West Campus quad cohesion, and all you can ask me about is if I want a pickle? There's a war going on, people!!!!
If I have to listen to one more minute of you discussing things I deem immaterial, I'm going to shoot myself!!!!!
By the way, don't mistake my zealous ferocity for cranky whining. My voice has a tendency to get a little high-pitched when I'm excited.
And don't think that I intend to piss everyone else off just because I am angrier than al Qaeda on Christmas Day, even though I could, if I wanted, incite a riot. It's just that people spend all their time focused on things that aren't important, and I have a real problem with how other people manage their time.
Whew, all this calm, rational pondering is tiresome. I wouldn't be reduced to such tranquil, accommodating discussion if not for the fact that I broke my exclamation-point key.
Ah, I think I have a solution:
THERE'S A WAR GOING ON, PEOPLE.
Ashwin Bhirud is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Friday.
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