82* angry thoughts

By Chris Kivlahan
Staff Writer
I’m Chris, and I don’t care for most things. This may come off as pessimistic, but think about it for a moment. Between global warming, corrupt politicians and hangnails, there’s a lot in this world to hate. And I, in an unprecedented (well kind of precedented) show of bitter cynicism, am bringing this rage to the people.
*It’ll actually be as many as I feel like. Get over it.
I hate love. Not all the time, mind you. Just when it gets in may way. Specifically, I hate your love, yes, yours. And when you get all in my face about it, I just get angrier.
Public Displays of Affection, or PDA’s, are quite possibly the single greatest threat to society as we know it.
We live in a society that relies upon certain, unspoken social contracts. Chiefly among these, the agreement that you will not mash your disease infested gaping pie-holes against each other, and I will refrain from exercising my eye-gouging techniques.
However, this sacred agreement is frequently broken, never more so than in this hormone-addled pg-13 love nest you monsters call Prospect.
In addition to these blatant displays of utter disdain for your peers, there are also several more subtle ways you have disrespected everyone who is unfortunate enough to lay eyes on you.
Take holding hands, for example. We get it, you two are desperately in love, and, unlike all others, your teenage romance will last forever. This, however, is absolutely no reason to actively block half of the hallway with the ferocity of a two-headed braindead walrus.
In addition, “snuggling” (as you call it), or “disturbing sex with clothes on” (as I call it) against the lockers before class is, strangely enough, not the classiest way to demonstrate your everlasting love. Yes, other people can see you. The middle of the hallway is in no way discreet, and in fact could only be more visible if you were partaking in the clumsy, awkward mixture of grinding and hugging on one of the tables in the middle of the cafeteria.
Now, some of you may be saying “Naw, that ain’t me. my gal and I, we’s classier than a squirrel in a tire yard.” On behalf of the other poor souls forced to coexist with you, no, you are not classy.
So, to reiterate, I and everyone else hates you, and probably will forever. But if you stop now, you might, if you’re lucky, cause people to want to vomit just a little less. And isn’t that what we’re all looking for in life?