It’s back to school time and Holy Taco is nothing if not studious. Research shows that many of our readers are either in college or college educated. Or live within hitchhiking distance of a community college. In light of this, it seems like now is the perfect time to share some of my most influential experiences from back in my days at university where I obtained a Philosophy degree that has served me so well lo these many years washing dishes and writing internet comedy.
Ceiling Bear – Like most other college students, my class time was equally divided between pretending to pay attention and simply not paying attention. In one particular class, my non-attention time was mostly used up by a small group of friends who sat in the back corner where we pondered when we’d next be able to drink beers and whether or not this super hot chick at the front of the room was a stripper. Because she totally looked like a stripper.
The most notable aspect of this class, however, was the advent of the Ceiling Bear. You’ve probably run afoul of a Ceiling Bear in the past but had no idea what it was. Like a Grizzly Bear or a Polar Bear it is fearsome and furry and will devour you whole if you try to pet it. Unlike those real bears, however, this one is a vagina. Curveball, I know.
Simply put, a Ceiling Bear is the fearsome carnivore you see on the ceiling when you open your eyes and have yet to realize the uncomfortably forward and pushy girl who looks a tad like Drew Carey is standing over you in a skirt and no gitch.
Like forgetting to hide your picnic basket in a tree when you’re n the deep woods, the Ceiling Bear makes appearances when you’re doing lame team building exercises and forget to never lay on the floor during lame team building exercises. How on earth can you establish trust and camaraderie with your fellow students when one of them insists on straddling you with their labia ursus majora eyeballing you from above?
To this day I have no idea what the point of laying on the floor was or if I felt any more trust with the other folks in that class, but I remember Ceiling Bear and am wary of them around every Drew Carey corner.
Dick Back – My first ever psych class was in a big ass lecture hall with tiered seating. The seats were long, semi-circular benches with swivel stools bolted to the floor, lest we revolt en masse and try to hurl them at the professor or some such. The problem with this manner of seating was that each tier was narrow as shit and if anyone was sitting at the end of a bank of stools, then it was pretty much impossible to maneuver past them in a discrete fashion. And so was born Dick Back.
Dick Back was a girl with unusually hairy arms. She didn’t look all Beast Mastery like Patch Adams or anything, but it was this long, blonde full-body muff that was off putting especially when it caught the light. The bizarre part was that otherwise she was kind of hot. Back when people were first evolving from apes, she would have been like the Scarlett Johansson of that ea, had she been around.
Anyway, Dick Back always sat at the end of the aisle and she must have camped the class or some shit because she was always there before my friends and I. And we always sat in that row. And that meant, each and every day, three of us would shimmy behind her, wiping our crotches across her upper back. Hence, Dick Back.
Though Dick Back started as a noun, it also works as a verb as the act of shimmying behind an individual in a tight spot is dick backing. It’s fun and easy to use in sentences, like so;
“Oh man, there’s the girl I had to shimmy behind in pysch class, effectively dick backing her each and every day.”
Ze German – In my second year of university I crafted the perfect schedule whereby I had no classes before 10 am, after 3 pm and no Fridays. It was beautiful. But I had one class left to take and one opening on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The only class at the entire school that fit was Child Psychology. So I figured what the f*ck and I signed up.
Leaders of tomorrow, I urge you – never pick a class based on a tiny hole in your schedule. Fate will see what you’re trying to do and bend you over.
In my case, I was bent over by an 80 year old intolerable German. Frightening, I know. My psych prof, who will absolutely sue me if I use his name here, so we’ll just call him Goebbles, was trapped in a dystopian 1970’s psych universe that made no sense. His go to example for something children could relate to was Snoopy and his bag of typical insults that children would lob at one another included “clod,” “nimble nuts” and “pin ass.” Can you imagine the Third World school yard in which sallow, dirty children are hugging their Snoopy dolls to their pale, malnourished chests as they taunt one another with cries of “nimble nuts?”
To fully appreciate this, it should be pointed out that Goebbles just got off the zeppelin and had the thickest, most preposterous Indiana Jones villain accent of all time. Every day I waited for him to tell us he was just shitting us and whip out his real voice, which would be not unlike Frasier – so vaguely gay and self absorbed. That’s an accent, right?
The Mad German also had an issue with just about every conceivable thing ever. He stopped class and publicly humiliated a girl for having a sucker. He refused to answer questions if you didn’t display a nametag he could read because he’d be damned if he was going to learn your stupid name. Anything you said that he deemed stupid would be answered with “ziss in not kindergarten!” and then a campaign of silence. He would spend 6 hours teaching a lesson and end it with “but ziss is reediculous” and then not explain the proper way of things. He just liked teaching bullshit. We skipped for three months straight once and opted to play pool and drink beer instead. Looking back, it was the right choice.
Ass Raspberries – Remember Dick Back? Sure you do, it was like 250 words ago. Anyway, the professor for that class decided to tell us a little story one day about what most of us recognize as things you don’t tell stories about.
The story started innocently enough – young professor creepy was frolicking in his house when he happened upon the refrigerator and an abundance of delicious raspberries therein. Knowing his destiny to one day make a room full of first year psych students feel very uncomfortable, he did the only rational thing he could have done – he dropped trou and start shotgunning those berries right up his ass.
Some time later during the ritual his father caught him and sent him to his room. I want to believe he removed the berries first. Because the crazy train had yet to pull into the station, the circus wasn’t over. Once in his room, his bowels devoid of raspberries, he proceeded to do what any of us would have done, if we were batshit crazy and hellbent on toppping an already terrible story with a raspberry plucked from the devil’s anus – he whacked off while thinking of his mom.
You see what happened there? It’s a one-two punch of shit you never want to hear. Because first you’re all “raspberries in the ass? Why are you telling me this?” and then like two minutes later we’re at incestuous jack off fantasies and suddenly you’re wishing to go back to the ass berries but there’s no rewind button on this ride and so here we are.
Again, I can’t recall if the story had a point, but that may be because we again reacted by skipping for three months, only this time it was to drink beer and play pool.
Lessons Learned – Is it a sad commentary on the four years I spent in university that my most noteworthy experiences involved either something perverse or an insane foreigner? I don’t know. What I do know is that this year, if you find yourself behind the 8-ball getting an essay done, or trying to wrap your head around some preposterously convoluted theory, remember that there’s beer and pool out there waiting for you. And they’ll embrace you for three solid months if need be.
Go now, little birds. Fly.