Since I got back from the Army, my sister has been on my ass about getting a job. I remembered the LoD board and how educated people like Tenshi go to college and live off of their families or college loans. Seeing as I don't have a family to sponge off, I decided to take out some loans.
I wasn't able to get regular Federally funded loans because my record has a few marks on it as a result of drug incidents of which I am fully inocent (I am still waiting for trial on this last charge). I think it is completely fucked up that you cannot get a Federal loan with a drug arrest or two on your record. It just goes to show you how badly the liberals fucked up this country.
Anyway, I had to get a privately funded loan from the Money Store. Since i have no collateral and the fucking town cops still have my truck on loackdown, my interest rate is 22.9%, which isn't that bad I suppose. It could be worse. I hope you pampered fucks who live off mommy and daddy's dime see what average Americans have to go through every day just to survice.
Well what is done is done, and I got my loan, and I got accepted to the local culinary school. I decided to put my experience at Panera's to use in the form of an exciting and rewarding career. The school is pretty good and beats the shit out of any useless Liberal Arts College, since I am actually going to be using this skill in a profession--not like fucking English and History and Geography.
My problem is that a lot of the people who go to this school are gays. Not the type of gays that hang around in Trammel and tame mares, but the kind of real gays that our Liberal Government allow to get married in states like Massachusettes, Oregon, and Canada. They make me fucking sick. And if they aren't gay, then they are metrosexual and probably record Queer Guy for the Straight Guy on TIVO.
So I have this one "guy" in my class named Antoine. No, he's not black. And I knew this fruit was off from the first day. He wears collared shirts with no t-shirt underneath and keeps like the first three buttons undone. And he wears those kind of jeans that are very tight and look really worn and washed out in the front. The strange thing is, the jeans are so tight that I can't really see if he has a package or not. So I started thinking that this guy was a girl in like opposite drag, or whatever the fuck queers call it. I'm sure Torak knows.
I hang out with this one guy named Jake, and I asked him if he could see Antonie's package. He didn't answer and hasn't been back to class since. Probably because he was too sickened from the whole deal. Well I would quit too but I have those fucking loans hanging over my head now. Life is fucked up.
Yesterday, I decided I was going to find out once and for all if this Antoine was a chick or not. Our section of the retirement home where the college is located is kind of separated from the area where the old people have their shuffleboard or whatever. As a result, it is a small area and there is only one bathroom for each of the sexes. One morning when we were reviewing Eggs over Miami--it's pretty big on South Beach and they serve it at rich places there like where Shaq eats and shit--I decided to blow off class and I hid in the middle stall, out of three, in the men's room and waited for Antoine to come in. I had noticed the cologne he wore was familiar, so I just waited for his smell, and then I was going to jump out and expose him. I wanted to get that fucker banned from the college like when I got Obi banned from UO.
I was in there the whole morning, and some sick slob in the next stall had had diarrhea soon after I got there and never flushed. I didn't want to risk leaving my stall to flush it, so it stayed there the whole day. If I find out who that was, I will kick his ass too. Lunch came and went and still no Antoine. Finally at about 3:00 or so, the men's room door opened and I caught a scent, over that of the diarrhea, that was familiar. He got in the stall on the other side of me and sat down. My heart was beating fast like before fist fights and PvP tournaments and like the times I would wake up before server up and try to get the rare fruit basket.
I braced myself, and then slowly and carefully stood up, stretching my muscular legs for the first time in hours, and bent over to stand on top of the toilet. I kept my head bent down so he would be startled as shit when I caught him peeing out of his pussy. With one quick motion, I put a hand on top of the stall divider and thrust my head and my hand holding my cellphone camera over the wall, and yelled, "AHA!" It was the fucking Dean of the college, incidently the same guy who gave me the loan from the Money Store. He jumped up in mid-shit, getting some on his pulled-down slacks, and he started yelling his head off, similar to how Torak must have when I beat him in a duel. In my shock, I slipped off the toilet and one of my boots came off in the water. I ran through the door, leaving the boot behind, and tried to get out of there before he realized it was me.
I ran about a half-mile away from there and hopped a bus home. I calmed down on the way and figured there was no way he could find out it was me just from the boot. Besides, I wasn't even marked as present on the attendance sheet. I was in the clear. Or so I thought. That night while at home, my sister yelled and said I had a phone call, but before I took it, I looked at the caller-id and it was my own cellphone number. I realized I must have dropped it in the men's room. I hung up the phone and took the cord out of the wall. I am just going to go to class tomorrow like nothing happened and claim my phone got stolen. He has no proof anyway.
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