DIVERSITY SENSITIVITY TRAINING
Over the next four years, you will have to share intimate spaces and moments with people who come from backgrounds very different from your own. Many of you have never had to deal with black people, fat people, poor people, or Mexicans, and certainly that was a beneficial part of your upbringing, but now it will all have to change. Tonight’s assembly will prepare you for the disgusting freaks you will be interacting with by giving them a few minutes to entertain you with performances guaranteed to make you respect and understand diversity.
First, Houa Choua, a Hmong junior, will perform his funky rap “Eat That Spicy Eggroll.” Over lame beats provided by a cheap synthesizer he traded his refugee cousin for on the black market, this dirty Laotian will rap about his people’s legal troubles, caused by white people’s inability to understand their cultural rituals like shooting white deer hunters and killing their own children when they cannot afford to raise them and have no black market connections. Although Hmong are violent, filthy, do not understand private property, and refuse to assimilate into American culture, they are great rappers and have bigger penises than most other Asian groups. The audience will be invited to participate in the performance with funky clapping, hip shaking, and joining in the chorus of “Go Hmong boy go Hmong boy go!”
Next, the campus association of Mexican, Latino, Xicano, and other Spic students will enter the auditorium in a pimped-out low rider boat with spinning rims, their hoochie bitches riding the bounce like it’s a big uncut spicy Ecuadorian sausage. A group of guys dressed as gang members, with flannel shirts open after the top button, wife-beaters, and jeans with Looney Toons embroidery, will make angry hand gestures while a mariachi band performs for spare change. The hoes will then peruse the audience for johns to take home and infect with crabs. Meanwhile, women in traditional native outfits will serve Oaxacan mole and taquitos. Vegan varieties will be available.
The third group to perform is the ever-popular BLT group, for lesbos, fags, and fucked-up straight people who think homos shouldn’t be discriminated against. A glittering float covered in sequins, feathers, and neon pink triangles will enter the stage while the soundtrack to The Bodyguard plays. While a group of angry lesbians passes out fliers advertising the new Ani DiFranco album, the rest of the group will perform a medley of songs illustrating their unique perspective. A drag queen trio performance of “I’m Coming Out” will meld into a lesbyterian folkstravaganza and straight (or not!) into the whole group singing “Bye Bye Bye” by ‘NSync. Finally, buff leathermen in thongs will run into the audience and shove their overstuffed packages into the faces of sexually awkward Indian students, while on stage militant lesbians will rub slices of baguette up and down their hairy legs, armpits, and snatches and throw them into the crowd.
Finally, the Black Power Unity Experience union will take the stage, putting on a skit about black acceptance. The characters are LaToya, Bobo, Sharmonicka, and Dytaevious. Bobo babymama Sharmonicka done left his blackass for Dytaevious, because he give her the dick in the booty and also pay for her to get a nice weave down at that Angel Baby place on Soufside. LaToya doing the weave and she say “Girl you keep your babydaddy otherwise your baby become molested by faggot like Michael Jackson!” Sharmonicka say “Girl maybe that good idea I never seen weave like this since my mama babymama have that black power fist in her hair and that year ago!” So Sharmonicka go back to Bobo and Dytaevious become a hit rapper and everyone happy and eat fry chicken and watermelon the end.
SEXUAL HARASSMENT SENSITIVITY TRAINING
Now that you’re in college, you will probably be tempted to take girls and boys back to your dorm and do very bad sex-type things to them. It’s natural for a bunch of horny idiots to want to grope and fondle each other day and night, but there are a few guidelines you should follow before you stick your battering ram into the pink cave of love.
1. Safe sex is boring sex: Condoms, sponges, foams, dental dams, and other prophylactic devices make sex boring! Real women and fags want you to ride them bareback, the way God intended. The risk of pregnancy, warts, and painful multicolored discharges makes sex fresh and exciting.
2. Privacy is overrated: The first time you’re at a wild party and you see some girl moaning as her boyfriend for the night tries to get his whole fist inside her cooch is often a strange experience. Sure, you’ll want to whip out your dick and start masturbating into the nearest red plastic cup, but later you’ll think about how exciting public sex is. Your roommate will be fascinated if you have loud and arcane sex—bondage and food sex are good ideas—while they are trying to sleep or do homework. The bottom line is: if you haven’t seen everyone in your dorm’s special places in action by the end of first trimester, you’re living with a bunch of prudes.
3. No means yes: Until recently, most liberal fag colleges spent this time putting on skits to illustrate the dangers of date rape, acquaintance rape, roofie-induced rape, and other less exciting forms of sexual harassment and assault. Luckily, today’s modern woman has shed the ugly skin of antisubordination feminism and is ready to be ravished anytime, anyplace, and anywhere. If you take a girl out to dinner, or get her a drink at a party, or tell her you would like to poke your candy bar inside her popcorn box, you have earned the right to do whatever you want with her! The only rule is: Don’t stop until you’re satisfied.
4. Intoxication makes sex better: Sober people are boring, lame people, and are often judgmental about others’ appearances, genders, acne problems, and other factors that might cause hesitance instead of hot sexual action. There’s an easy solution, though: drugsandalcoholandalcoholanddrugs! Beer, pot, hash, vodka, smack, H, and PCP will help rid you of those horrible inhibitions. You’ll let your hair and pants down and be willing to fuck anything with a hole, and that’s what college is for! So get fucked up and start fucking!
5. Masturbation is never acceptable: You’re in an environment filled with thousands of people who want nothing more than to give you every type of job any time of day or night. There’s nothing more evil and selfish than keeping to yourself what other people want so badly. Sure, the unlimited access to bestiality porn with no parents watching might make you get the urge to play solitaire, but when you’re in the red, remember to let someone else share the fun. One suggestion is to wear very loose pants so you can alert others to your condition without having to say a word. Just point or wait for their eyes to land on your tent, find the nearest jar of baby oil, and voila!
FORBIDDEN ACADEMIC LOVE FANTASY PART I
Once upon a time, at a prestigious American institute of higher education, there was a professor whose attempts to be sexy were not altogether unsuccessful. She wore spike heels, fishnets, short skirts, and other trashy slutgear to academic conventions, and gave talks about Lacan, Foucault, and her vagina. At a particularly enlightening panel discussion analyzing the intersection of autonomasia and images of the female anus in pornography, she inspired a young man named C. so much that he decided to sign up for one her classes the next semester.
Over winter break, C. read many of her books and articles, and tried to imagine what it would be like to shove his highly theorized penis into one or more of her orifices, which must have been practically dripping with intelligence. Every night he fell asleep imaging the two of them slathered in oil, tangled in a slippery heap while playing the Postmodern Theorists version of Twister: “Right testicle on Bataille,” “Left nipple on Teresa de Lauretis,” etc.
Just days before the new semester was to begin, the sexual professor published a new text about pedagogy. Most of the book was a series of long anecdotes tracing the sexual nature of the student-teacher relationship in classes she had taught. One chapter memorably compared a male student’s visit to her office hours to her maintaining a viselike grip on his testicles: the power she had over this young, academically and sexually infatuated, inexperienced boy was the power to simultaneously fondle and crush. C. read this passage over and over, making his hands numb with ice and rubber bands in order to grip his testicles yet feel like they were in the hands of another.
Finally it was time for the first class. C. wore a new pair of destroyed Ezra Fitch jeans splattered with semen-like paint and torn perilously near the crotch, as if someone with sharp claws wanted desperately to dive head-first into his jock. His pink polo shirt was vulnerable yet confident, naïve without being necessarily awkward. And his patent leather Sperry Top-Siders shined like the tautly pulled skin of a freshly shaven, engorged thing.
The students waited in the seminar room for several minutes until finally the door swung open dramatically and the professor emerged, wearing an arctic white suede miniskirt and a purple tubetop with the word “Coochie” written in glittering gold sequins. Her bare legs ended in huge stripper shoes with clear heels and gold straps; with each tap of her feet as she approached her seat, C. felt another measure of blood pump into his penis.
She sat down, surveyed the class skeptically, and said, “This seminar is supposed to be about Lacanian theory, so I want to begin with a similar word: ‘laconic.’ I want to suggest that the effect produced by laconic, coded communication can translate into an explosive yet contradictory mixture of desire and hatred. Is anyone familiar with a classic film Beyond the Forest?”
C. wasn’t sure if this was a test, but, heart and penis pounding, he thrust his hand upwards like a purple-headed warrior and shouted out, “This means little or nothing!”
She smiled, lowered her French-manicured right hand toward her moist triangle, and winked at him. “You and the system,” she said definitively.
Totally lost and moments away from spontaneous orgasm, he wondered what his parents would say if they knew he was spending their credit trust on this kind of academic fantasy experience.
Next time: More sex, more theory, and more violent anger.
PUTTING THE “HIGHER” IN HIGHER EDUCATION
Quotations overheard in the illicit drug-soaked halls of your favorite institution of “higher” learning:
“Dude, it’s like the whole world is like a big fucking egg, and if it cracks, shit will be totally fucked up. What the fuck am I talking about?”
“Red Skittles would be so good right now.”
“I can’t believe you live in my dorm and we both like drinking water and listening to Bright Eyes. I’m so happy to have found real friends already in college. Let’s be friends forever and hang out in my dorm. I have more water there!”
“This potato chip bag HAS TO BE MOVED.”
“I think I’m gonna pass out.”
“One time I was driving in my car and there was like a bag of coke in my wallet and I was totally spun too and I was driving really fast and like the cops pulled me over and they were about to look into my wallet and I was totally freaking out and then it was like they were going to ask me to open it to get my ID and I was thinking I had to do that without showing them the coke and I guess it worked because they just gave me a warning how fucked up is that wait have I ever told you the story about when I tried to drink a banana smoothie but I was still spun and I started gagging it was like early in the morning and usually I can eat at that time but only a banana smoothie . . .”
“I just realized that when people talk to each other, the words come out and float around and things can happen before they get sucked in or whatever. That is fucking trippy.”
“One time I had these drugs, and I had this cat, and I put the drugs in the cat. It was funny.”
“Why the fuck are we making out?”
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