Changes

Whatev. My dad wrote your finals. That take home PoliSci test with sixty-two essays? Those lab reports that must be written entirely in Pig Latin and iambic pentameter? The astronomy test with the question that reads: "#3. Create a star. Show all work. Explain this star's effect on at least twenty constellations and six historical sea voyages?" Yeah, those were him. How would your dad feel if he knew that my dad plans on taking points off in-class timed essays because of archaic rules about grammar and punctuation? I would guess that he would feel terrible.

Ummm.... me too. But better yet, my dad is B&G (I mean Facilities). He can make the whole campus smell like soy sauce, just by snapping his fingers. He can also fertilize the grass with ground up chicken bones, and no one will dare to stop him. He could pave the path in front of Weston / Brooks if he wanted to, but he doesn't like you, so he won't. How would your dad feel if he knew that your sorry ass was the only thing stopping the student body from enjoying a perfectly respectable concrete walkway instead of sloshing through matted down dirty snow and ice to save a few seconds on the way to Schow? I would guess that he would feel terrible.

Yeah whatever. In much the same way that paper beats rock, my dad beats your dad. Big Time. My dad invented wintry mix. Yeah that's right. All that snow, sleet, and hail that's been banging against your window as you try to take a 24-hr take home, my dad did that. How would your dad feel if he was trying to get to his lame Spanish final in Weston, but ended up being 25 minutes late because he slipped on the ice on Mission Hill and then got beaned with a hail stone the size of a golf ball? I would guess that he would feel terrible.