Why I have Homicidal Thoughts in Psychology Class

I was asked by a few people to post another article, so here's a new one I wrote.

link: [url]http://www.ubersite.com/m/37285[/url]

I have a Psychology class on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 7:00 to 8:30 PM (Eastern Time). An hour and a half of Psychology nonsense two days a week gives me three credit hours I desperately need.

Why Psychology? Simple, it was either that or Sociology. I thought long and hard about which class I would rather half-ass my way through and I picked Psych. Why? So I could tell my wife how fucked up she is and use the class as a reference. So far, it's really coming in handy.

Telling her that by watching Oprah every day, she's displaying classic signs of an obsessive compulsive and seemingly looking at Ms. Winfrey like a quasi-mother figure, then pointing to the book and slowly nodding my head with a concerned look on my face is enough to shut her up and secure the television for an hour. She never took Psychology (she was a Sociology girl) so she has no idea that I'm completely talking out of my ass and even making things up as I go along. For now, I have the upper hand. She is no match for me. I am winning.

(Of course, this will only last until she picks up the book and reads it herself, which she will inevitably do. Then she'll tell me I'm actually *insert title here* and I'll stand there like an impotent jack ass while she proves once again that she's smarter than me. Well whoop-de-doo, I could still kick her ass at any video game.)

Anyway, those of you who have taken a psychology class know how horrible it can be. I'd rather sharpen a pencil and repeatedly stab myself in the eye than go to this class to begin with, but three people change it from a horribly boring class to an extension of hell.

First, there's the professor. She's a 90 year old Lithuanian woman who sounds like a mixture of Yaakov Smirnoff and The Count on Sesame Street. When she's speaks, half the room makes the Malcolm McDowell 'DEAR GOD IS THAT BEETHOVEN??' face. I keep expecting her to pause, look at the class, and say: 'Look at all ze confoosed faces, ah ha ha !! Vat a cuntree!' Instead, she tends to ramble on about topics that are not covered in my $50.00 book. Half the time I'm convinced she's just reading the ingredients from a box of Count Chocula to see if anyone notices. No one ever does. No one, that is, other than one girl.

Anyone who has taken any college class, anywhere, ever, knows this girl, and hates her more than genital herpes. If you don't know her and hate her, congratulations! YOU ARE HER. But this isn't about you, it's about this girl. Let's just call her 'annoying bitch' for now. Annoying bitch always sits in the front row and constantly asks the professor to repeat herself. Imagine hearing this six to ten times, twice a week, for three months.

PROFESSOR:
'A-ccor-deeng to ze cogna-teeve perspek-tav, leer-neeng inVOLVES mentaal PRO-cess. Ze trad-deshee-naal perspek-tav...'

ANNOYING BITCH:
'Excuse me Ms. Femme-Nikita, could you repeat the last part?'

CLASS:
**collective groan**

PROFESSOR:
'Vat last part?'

ANNOYING BITCH:
'The part about conditioned physiological responses.'

PROFESSOR:
'Ok, von more time. Zee con-dee-shoned pheezee-ohlo-geekal reesponzes...'

And on and on and on. Remember the movie Airplane! when anyone who listen's to Ted Striker's stories kills themselves? That's the attitude out class is developing. I won't be surprised if I see someone douse themselves with gasoline and light a match tonight. In fact, I would welcome it.

Those two are awful, but the third member of the Axis of Annoyance is the worst.

We'll call him 'Mr. I'm so fat I need to eat ten times a fucking day.' Now this wouldn't be so bad if it were an occasional thing. Hell, I've taken a burger to class once or twice. Sometimes you just don't have time to eat.

This kid, on the other hand, brings the same McDonalds Bag O' Food to class EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

First, there's the Big Mac meal. That's a Big Mac, a large order of fries, and a soda. I assume fatty was used to the super-size meal and losing it was quite traumatic, but luckily for him, he's found a way to compensate. Along with his Big Mac meal, the contents of his bag include:

1 Filet of Fish sandwich
1 cheeseburger
1 extra order of fries
1 apple pie

The smell alone is enough to kill a man. It's too bad McDonalds wasn't around in the 40's, the Germans could have saved a lot of money AND looked like Humanitarians. I can see Goebbels now:

'They're dead? But we FED them. I just... I don't know what happened. **evil smile** Get McDonalds on the phone schnell!!'

Anyway, along with the smell, when Un-slim Shady eats, he sounds like Jabba the Hut in a pie eating contest. Oddly enough, this is quite appropriate being that HE LOOKS LIKE JABBA THE HUT. Take a minute to picture Jabba in a sleeveless Abercrombie shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops, wolfing down a bag full of McDonalds. Now, ask yourself, is that pleasant?

The thing that bothers me the most is, why the hell does he even bother to wear Abercrombie clothing? He's decked out head to toe. It looks like the store threw up on him for God's sake. Someone needs to tell this fat bastard that he's not an Abercrombie model and thanks to his 'hyperactive thyroid gland,' he never will be. Couldn't we make a Lane Bryant for men and call it Lenny Bryant? Then get Rueben Studdard, Fat Joe, and Rikishi to endorse it? Would anyone be against this?

Because of these idiots, I've been having thoughts that some people might classify as 'insane.' In fact, I'm positive I could rally enough support in class tonight to stage a coup-de-tat and overthrow the professor. Once I have control, the other two will fall under my iron fist. This needs to happen.

After all, no jury would ever convict me, I'm just a teddy bear for God's sake!

(At Ubersite, there is a picture of Teddy Bear)