I fucked your mom for gum money

Fashion advice for obese girls with Down Syndrome.

Friday, October 21, 2005

I Think I've Got the Universe Pretty Much Figured Out (Part 1)!

Due to my religious upbringing I wasn't allowed to study science. My parents loved me very much (in spite of my not feeling likewise), but they were a tad overprotective. Wait, does keeping me in a burlap sack until the age of 15 qualify as "overprotective?" I believe it does. And does forcing me to wear gun-mufflers at all times -- just in case a negro-person with a jam box strolled by the compound and exposed me to "soul music" -- qualify as overprotective? I'll just add that to the "yes" column. But nothing displayed my parents' mollycoddling in a clearer light than their approach to home-schooling.

Math, though not strictly forbidden, was limited to basic addition and subtraction. The numbers 5 and 6 were not allowed, nor were any equations that resulted in the number 3. I was not allowed to use any mathematical symbols (e.g. +, -, =, etc) since, according to my mom, "symbols look like gremlins and gremlins are of the devil." And the one time I broached the subject of fractions I got a hot soldering iron shoved in my eye.

History lessons were limited to events of the week previous, and only events that occurred in our backyard. Geography consisted of a map of Belgium, however the names of the cities had been crossed out with a black magic marker (referring to markers as "magic" would have resulted in a soldering iron being shoved in my eye, so we called them "fancy sticks"). The only literature I was exposed to was a stack of TV Guides entirely blacked out with fancy sticks, and Gym Class was just my dad beating me with a leather strap.

But science, of course, was outright verboten.

One could argue that I'd have benefited more from a formal education in a public school (and the social-worker from Child Services argued this quite effectively right before Dad shot him). However my parents did not want to take the risk that I'd be exposed to any ideas, ideologies, or thoughts that would contradict the tenant of our faith: That the Universe was created by a sentient novelty rainbow wig named SPARKLE.



(Our Lord, shown here expanding the consciousness of a minion)

And as crazy as it all seems now, I accepted the way I was raised as entirely normal. It wasn't until I'd left the S.P.A.R.K.L.E. compound, after the mass-suicide left everyone I'd ever known dead in a smelly heap (Reverend Tolson put the cyanide in a dish of Shepard's Pie - little did he know I was terrified beyond reason of Shepard's Pie), that I began to scrutinize my upbringing. Maybe, I'd thought to myself on the long bus-ride from the Cult Deprogramming Center to my new foster home, the Universe had not been willed into existence by a novelty rainbow wig at all. Maybe it had been willed into existence by an entirely different novelty item. Or maybe, JUST MAYBE... it had been the result of some sort of science-business.

As a ward of the state I was entitled to attend the local community college sans charge. It was there that I began my quest for knowledge. I started with remedial courses in the fundamentals, since my education contained obvious holes. As it turns out I was a quick study, because before I knew it, I was applying to PhD programs across the nation. Though the limited curriculum at the community college left me armed with only an associate's degree in jazz-aerobics, I knew that my desire for knowledge would not be sated until I'd conquered one of the most daunting arenas of academia: Quantum Physics.

The rejection letters poured in; Stanford, Harvard, MIT, even Cornell wouldn't have me. Still I remained hopeful, sending out applications to every post-graduate school in the nation until my tenacity finally paid off. I urinated with joy upon receiving the letter of acceptance from the University of Lower Kentucky, hand-written on the back of a humorous cocktail napkin by the Dean of ULK's School of the Sciences himself, Dr. Kojak Pentramadon.

As it turns out, Dr. Pentramadon had not been dissuaded by my undergraduate studies in jazz-aerobics; in fact, it was the very reason he'd accepted me. For Dr. Pentramadon had a very unique approach to unraveling the marvels of wave mechanics, the mysteries of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, and the wonders of quantum entanglement: Interpretive Dance.

My first day of doctoral pursuit started quite typically; with a dance-off. I was led into a dark chamber where Dr. Pentramadon was doing a variety of stretching exercises the likes of which I'd never seen before. He gave no hint or prelude as to what was in store next -- but when I heard the opening strains of C+C Music Factory, I knew it was time for fight-or-flight.

We dance-battled for the better part of seven hours, neither of us speaking or breaking the stoic expressions on our faces. We communicated through movement, expressed ourselves to the rhythm, and made bold declarations to the beat. Of course I knew I was no match for the good Doctor. He was merely testing the limits of my abilities. But still I was confident that our battle left him impressed. As his many man-servants wiped the sweat from our bodies with terrycloth towels, he turned to me and finally spoke. "You got moves, kid" he said, "and some of 'em ain't half-bad."


To Be Continued

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