The furious force of my rhymes

They’ve added a cool little sushi bar to USC Commons right across the way from the mail stop. It has a bustling, Tokyo subway kind of feel to it because it’s right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of kids running around between classes. You can sit down, put down your bags, order a roll, and the chef’ll make it for you right there. Charming.

I noted this new addition to USC’s retail armada with approval as I was heading out, carrying my skateboard and bookbag and pushing the glass door. A sorority girl busted in to my right, wearing those infuriating square coffee gradient sunglasses and shaggy chic attire, along with her similarly fashioned friend. She pointed out the sushi place.

“Oh look,” she said smiling, “A little Asian food place for Asian people to eat!”

God DAMMIT.

It’s like the universe knew my hands were full, knew I was late to class, knew that I would, despite seemingly insurmountable odds, control my urge to knock her eyeballs out from their sockets with my skateboard trucks swung menacingly at the back of her skull, that I would not break her nose off and feed it to her vapid friend.

She toted a bag, proudly proclaiming her “heart” belonged to some mishmash of Greek symbology. “Your freaking brain belongs to a museum,” I muttered, “the starring attracting of an exhibit entitled ‘God’s Greatest Failures of All Time.’ And your clothes belong to the freakin’ Woodstock maternity ward. Gah!”

So many fools, so few bullets.

Los Angeles also blacked out for an hour today. Everyone was like “Oh man that dude who threated to bomb us + Australia was telling the truth!” but it turns out it was some tool working on the grid who decided to cut all the wires at once, instead of one at a time. Good job man – got my Bio class canceled.

-f.w.