Desperate Student, Episode 9: Political Activist

Sitting in one's home feeling sorry for oneself is actually surprisingly entertaining. Soon after my return from a fateful tour of New York and Surrounding Environs, I found myself in my still-sparkling home staring at the wall mourning my perpetual and inescapable bad luck.

While I had been gone, my roomie had taken on five new room mates to help lower the cost of rent. The house was designed for two. Two people slept in each of the two tiny bedrooms, two people took the couch, and my blankies and pillow were moved to the bathtub. By the time I returned, it was too late to protest.

I decided it was time to move out and find another place. Unfortunately, that meant money. Money meant another act of suicidal desperation. After several hours of mournful introspection, I rose and borrowed my roomie's new laptop while he wasn't looking.

Monster.Com > Jobs For People Who Can't Fog A Mirror > No Bingo.

For the first time ever, Monster had no jobs available for cold bodies. This was bad. This was very, very bad. I would have to get creative. I leaned back in the chair, deep in thought, and suddenly found myself navigating the corridors of FCN. Tim's comment about speech writing got me thinking. Why not start a career in politics? No manual labor, job skills, training, or moral principles were required. I seemed cut out for it in a big way.

An image flashed across my memory from my days roaming the streets as a drug dealer (this was before FCN's reformation). I had seen a sign with the smiling face of my favorite politician over the words: "Get Involved 2008". That was my ticket.

I coerced one of the new roomies, a thick red-bearded frat boy named Ivan, to give me a lift. The office was part of a complex rented mostly by medicinal specialists like orthodontists and witch doctors. I knocked on a door covered with patriotic stickers and slogans.

"Come on in," Someone shouted. I opened the door. The main room had no furniture. The floors were covered with poorly organized stacks of paper, which were being sifted by a young blonde with hair tied in such a way that she looked very much like a cow. The walls were covered with posters and pictures.

"Hey," I said hesitantly. "Is this Nancy Pelosi's office? I saw her picture on the ..."

"No," The girl said. "Sorry. This is Hillary Clinton's office."

"Oh." I was dejected, but not quite ready to give up. "What's the difference?"

"Makeup, mostly," Said the girl. "Why? Do you want to help out?"

"Does it pay?"

"It's mostly volunteer work, but if you do really well, you could work your way up the ladder and start making a lot of money."

That sounded risky to me, but I was desperate, so I agreed. "Tell me what to do."

The girl, whose name was Ricky (I didn't understand it, either) gave me a stapler and pointed at a huge stack of papers in the corner. "Four sheets each," She said.

I started stapling with abandon. The work was easy and boring. Ricky moved about the room sorting papers with no apparent rhyme or reason. After about two hours, something in my wrist cracked and I cried out in pain.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"I think I broke something."

"Do you mind if I play some music?"

"That's fine."

She started playing Shania Twain's I Feel Like A Woman on repeat. Another hour passed.

"Hey, Ricky?"

"What?"

"Do you listen to anything else?"

"No, why?"

"No special reason."

"This is the Hillary Clinton for President Theme Song. If you don't like it, go work for Obasaka." She said the last word with utter contempt.

"Why? What do they listen to?"

"I Feel Like A Disenfranchised Discriminated Cinderella Story Inspiring Young Idealist Guy From Kenya."

"Sounds catchy."

She glared and got back to her sorting, this time humming along with the music. Another hour.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"Look at my hand! It's flapping up and down!"

"Yeah, so?"

"So I can't stop it!"

"Wierd." She turned up the music. I knew I wasn't going to quit now. I had a bright political future ahead of me. I could just see people humming to the catching tune of I Feel Like A Desperate Student:

I'm staying late tonight
I have papers to write
I'm getting worried about my grade
Jealous of my room mates
Because they all have dates
Been a week since I was paid

Never successful
Life is so stressful
Pearls before the swine
When I was six I had some good luck
But now it feels bad all the time

The worst thing about being a student
Is when you get caught doing things that you shouldn't!

O-wuh-uh-uh! Go totally crazy! Incurably lazy!
Long nights, lost fights!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Minimum wage, yeah! Stapling pages!
O-wuh-uh-uh! I don't have a fever, but I never get near her!
Don't clean my shirt, can't smell the dirt!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Wish I were rich, yeah! Don't like how I feel:
Dude! I feel like a Desperate Student.

My wrist is gonna break
It's starting to shake
Now I'm stapling to save the furry
Not much romance
Don't know how to dance
But that's the least of my worries

The worst thing about being a student
Is when you're desperate nothing seems to be imprudent!

O-wuh-uh-uh! Go totally crazy! Life's getting hazy!
I guessed, flunked test!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Terrible jobs, yeah! Living like a slob!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Never in action! No job satisfaction!
Don't comb my hair, life is unfair!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Wish I were rich, yeah! Don't like how I feel:
Dude! I feel like a Desperate Student.

The worst thing about being a student
Is when you wake and know today will be a torment!

O-wuh-uh-uh! Go totally crazy! Can't handle a lady!
Bad jests, worst dressed!
O-wuh-uh-uh! I need some moola! To buy Coca-Cola!
O-wuh-uh-uh! I'm breaking my arm! I cause social harm!
I sit in the back, developing plaque!
O-wuh-uh-uh! Wish I were rich, yeah! Don't like how I feel:
Dude! I feel like a Desperate Student.

I know. It's catchy. Come on, baby. It kept me company as I harnessed the uncontrollable flapping up-and-down motion to continue stapling pages for yet another hour. By then, hunger was beginning to take control.

"Ricky, do you ever take breaks or anything?"

"Sure."

"When?"

"All the time. I left for lunch earlier but you didn't notice."

"Can I go for lunch now?"

"Sure."

"Can I scalp some lunch money?"

"This is campaign money you're asking for. Do you really want to take the risk that the Alaskan Caribou will be overrun by filthy capitalist dogs?"

I was perfectly ready to take that risk if it meant a free lunch, but I had the sense not to say so. Instead, I went outside and hailed a taxi. The plan was to "hitch a ride," that is, have him take me to In N Out Burger and then make a break for it without paying. Fortunately, since I wasn't explicitly depriving him of any material possessions, this act doesn't technically qualify as stealing. Note that the previous sentence is completely untrue.

When I reached for the door of the taxi, my wildly flapping right hand threw the door back much further than I'd hoped. I'm not totally clear on the physics, but I was thrown over the taxi and into the street beyond. It was at this unfortunate moment that a greyhound bus, which was innocently sweeping through town, swerved wildly to avoid me, turned sideways, and smashed through the glass front of a fancy fashion store run by a manager who swore he would kill me if I ran his name on FCN.

The bus windows were open, and when it tipped, a very cute 2-year-old dressed in some adorable frilly pink stuff fell out the window and into my bewildered lap. That's the situation I was in when the reporters showed up. They managed to take some great pictures of the sobbing mother retrieving her baby and thanking me profusely. I objected half-heartedly until an *BC News reporter shoved a microphone in my face.

"Tell me, did you really just jump in front of that bus to save that baby?"

"What can I say?"

"Would you call yourself a hero?"

"Well, I didn't really do anything that special. It was more of an accident."

"That's very modest of you. What's your name?"

"You can call me Desperate Student." I extended my hand to shake, but the wrist clenched and I fell to the ground, my face contorted in agony.

"He's hurt!" Someone shouted, and then an ambulance came and a hospital doctor checked me out and told me the damage was permanent. I hate it when that happens.

Within hours, my face was up and around all over the place - on TV, newspapers, and yes, even the internet. People were inspired by my sacrificial act and thought something should be done to improve my miserable lot in life. "Nice people shouldn't have to work for a living," Said one commentator. I couldn't agree more.

That evening, as I sat at home by the stove nursing a hot mug of green tea and occasionally screaming in agony over the pain in my wrist, I got a phone call. Burke, one of the new roomies, picked it up.

"Yo. Burke. Uhuh. Yeah, he's here." He handed me the phone. "For you."

I reached for the phone with my right hand and pain shot up my arm. I reached to rub the strained joint with my left hand and poured scalding hot green tea into my lap. With tears in my eyes, I took the phone.

"He ... hi?"

"Desperate Student, this is Mayor Chavez. Are you sitting down?"

"Uncontrollably," I answered.

"Um .... good. I have bad news and good news. The bad news is that the city dog catcher perished in the bus crash. The good news is that I've appointed you to fill that role until the next election can be held. Will you take it?"

"What does the job entail?"

"Well, you ..."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Of course I'll take the job. When do we start?"

"Come to my office tomorrow at nine and I'll integrate you into the administration. In the mean time, get a good night's rest."

"Thanks, mayor."

"No. Thank you."

Chavez hung up. I was about to give the phone back to Burke when it rang again in my hand. I answered.

"Hello, City Dog Catcher's office."

"I think I have the wrong number. Sorry ..."

I recognized the voice. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Suzy?"

"Hey ... yeah, it's me."

I quivered with happiness but tried to maintain a manly distance with my ex. "What's up, Suzy?"

"I think I misjudged you. I mean, I saw what you did on Al-Jazeera TV this evening, and you ... well ... I don't think I gave you credit for your inner reservoirs of ..."

Then the line went dead. My thumb moved to call her back when an irritating woman's voice played into my ear.

"We're sorry, but calling people costs money, which you haven't paid us for the last four months. Now your line has been disconnected, and our lawyers are taking action against you. Thank you, and have a good day. Not!"

I hung up the phone and went to the bathroom to wring the tea out of my pants. Then I climbed into the bathtub and slowly closed my eyes. It had been a long day, but, for the first time in weeks, I was actually looking forward to tomorrow.

What Hurts a Nerd the Most

At the last debate tournament, the FCN gang rewrote the lyrics to What Hurts the Most with Courtney JOY! (a really good speech - and song - writer). Check them out...

I can take the rain on this empty brief case
That don't bother me I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out
I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while
Even though going on with it done still upsets me
There are days every now and again I pretend I'm ok
But that's not what gets me

What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And having to walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that debating you
Is what I was tryin' to do

It's hard to deal with the pain of losing rounds,
But I'm doin' It
It's hard to force that smile when I see our rivals that I've lost to
Still Harder
Getting up, getting dressed, livin' with this regret
But I know if I could do it over
I would trade give away all the words that I saved in my heart
That I left unspoken

What hurts the most
Is being so close
And having so much to say
And having to walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that debating you
Is what I was trying to do

Not seeing that debating you
That's what I was trying to do
Ooohhh....

Wake Me Up When The Quarter Ends

In honor of Spring Break, a time off school that the FCN writers are enjoying by catching up on homework, I wrote the following lyrics that are intended to be set to the tune of Green Day's Wake Me Up When September Ends (Lyrics, mp3). Enjoy!

First half has come and passed
The freetime can never last
Wake me up when the quarter ends

My eyes are blank and glassed
Four long years don't go so fast
Wake me up when the quarter ends

Here comes class time again
When the weekend goes
Sitting in rows again
Writing funny notes

I badly need some rest
Never succeed on my tests
Wake me up when the quarter ends

First half has come and passed
The freetime can never last
Wake me up when the quarter ends

Dust off the books again
Pop a sleeping pill
Wake me up when the quarter ends

Here comes class time again
When the weekend goes
Sitting in rows again
Writing funny notes

I badly need some rest
Never succeed on my tests
Wake me up when the quarter ends

First half has come and passed
The freetime can never last
Wake me up when the quarter ends

My eyes are blank and glassed
Four long years don't go so fast
Wake me up when the quarter ends
Wake me up when the quarter ends
Wake me up when the quarter ends

If I Were A Fat Man

An FCN reader sent us the following rendition of the lyrics to Harnick and Bock's If I Were A Rich Man. If you are unfamiliar with the classic from Fiddler on the Roof, please listen to this audio clip before continuing.

Dear God, you made many, many slim people.
I realize, of course, that it's no shame to be slim.
But it's no great honor either!
So, what would have been so terrible if I had a small gut eh?"

If I were a fat man,
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd eat and eat and eat.
If I were a fatter man.
I'd look like a mountain.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a biddy biddy fat,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.

I'd build a big tall house to room my circumfrance,
Right in the middle of the town.
A fine tin roof with thick wooden floors below.
There would be one strong staircase just going up,
And one even stronger coming down,
And one great kitchen set up for my food.

I'd fill my yard with chicks and turkeys and geese and ducks
For me to roast and eat
And each loud "cheep" and "swaqwk" and "honk" and "quack"
Would land like a trumpet on the ear,
As if to say "Here lives a fatty man."

If I were a fat man,
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd eat and eat and eat.
If I were a fatter man.
I'd look like a mountain.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a biddy biddy fat,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.

I see my wife, my Golde, looking like a fat man's wife
With a proper double-chin.
Supervising meals to her heart's delight.
I see her putting on airs and strutting like a peacock.
Oy, what a happy mood she's in.
Screaming at the servants, day and night.

The most important men in town would come to help feed me!
They would ask me to advise them,
Like Ted Kennedy the Fat.
"If you please, Reb Tevye..."
"Which food, Reb Tevye..."
Posing problems that would cross a cook's eyes!
And it won't make one bit of difference if i answer right or wrong.
When you're fat, they think you really know!

If I were fat, I'd have the gut that I lack
To sit in the fast food place and eat.
And maybe have a booth in an In-N-Out.
And I'd discuss the cooking books with the learned men, several hours every day.
That would be the sweetest thing of all.

If I were a fat man,
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd eat and eat and eat.
If I were a fatter man.
I'd look like a mountain.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a biddy biddy fat,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.

Steve has a new system sound!

I just wanted to update all of you on the Steve situation. My computer has a new system noise. I was really getting tired of the abrupt “beep” he always made when he wanted to express some kind of emotion (happy or sad), so I was elated to discover this morning that he also has a “swoosh” sound. It's quieter than the beep and demonstrates more subtle feeling.

Steve won't swoosh when he is really mad or his battery is getting dangerously low, but he might if he thinks the Internet connection is a tad slow or if he gets lonely. It's a 100% improvement in variety and will make my computer experience that much more gratifying.

If you're curious to hear the sound, simply turn off the sound on your system and press your Shift key five times quickly. If you want to hear it again, just press cancel and repeat.