Someone Else's Fault

Someone Else's Fault By Christopher Cooper The first day of class I would rather be late. Having the unmistakable look of someone who not only needs a mother's understanding but also a father's rescue. A student with the Burma-Shave odor, dressed by his mother, financed by his family, mixed with the pretense of dear old dad. No I can't stand the pressure of being first. It would mean that I would have to make a seat selection become a poker-less face gambler. Choosing a seat would be too much responsibility. A front sitter is someone who is nothing more then a brown-nosing egg head claiming to be a Republican while secretly voting for a Democrat. Always raising his hand faster then the sexual act of a virgin male. The last seat in the back is owned by the disrupting star of Reefer Madness, the dandelion guy with the foul fragrance and irremovable roots of future incarceration. The kind of student that makes the instructors understand why guns aren't allowed. Sitting in the middle would show that you're as spineless as a squid, mindless as a robin, unwilling to make a commitment; a damn fence sitter. No I would rather be late and blame my seat assignment on demographics. Written March 11th, 2002 © on Mar 11 2002 12:26 AM PST   0 • 14