62 lines
3.4 KiB
Plaintext
62 lines
3.4 KiB
Plaintext
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'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #330 !!
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#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "I Need a New Roommate" !!
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##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> Cyn !!
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..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 12/11/98 !!
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!!========================================================================!!
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I'm living in a deadhead paradise. It's like living with my
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mother in the sixties. Except my mom's got taste.
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Yesterday I was talking to my friend Wendy about what it's going
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to be like next year, when I room with one of my friends, and I came
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close to crying. "My room will be full of pretty things," I said.
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"There will be no black light posters . . . no Grateful Dead music . . .
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no potheads saying how things are 'sketchy' or 'phatty' . . . no stench
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of patchouli . . . it'll be SO BEAUTIFUL," I said, tearing up. Wendy
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just nodded indulgently. "It's okay, Cyn," she said, "It's okay."
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I should probably have had the foresight to write "NO DEADHEADS"
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on my room application. After all, I am going to Oberlin, liberal oasis
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in the cultural dearth that is Ohio. (Alums include: Liz Phair, Ben of
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Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, and Dr. Kevorkian.) But no, silly me, I
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claimed to be tolerant of all musical tastes. That was before I got to
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listen to everything the Dead has ever performed. And the bootleg live
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tapes.
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On the bright side, when I'm trying to ignore the dead, at least
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I don't have to listen to her crack pot theories. The other day I had
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to leave to avoid mocking the six very stoned people sitting in my room
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talking about how AIDs is a government conspiracy. "But wait!," I
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wanted to say, "Hasn't it occurred to you that your theory is incredibly
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asinine?"
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You can smell the patchouli before you actually enter my room.
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My friends have started actively mocking me about it. "Hey, Cyn," they
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say, "What's that I smell? Patchouli?" "Cyn, I think you smell kind of
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like . . . patchouli!" To which I reply "Hey. Fuck you." But on the
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bright side, I have lost all ability to smell patchouli. And the room
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smells better than when she doesn't burn incense, because then the odor
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of pot and stale beer emerges.
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Yes, stale beer. My room is the beer bottle equivalent of an
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elephant graveyard. On one rare occasion where I was actually cleaning,
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I moved a chair and found two six packs of empty beer bottles that had
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been there apparently for months. Beer bottles linger in our room for
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days, weeks even. Sometimes I give in and take them out for her. I
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think she believes that the Beer Bottle Fairy comes and takes them away.
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Or maybe she thinks someone stole them. For all I know, she's saving
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them to build a house or something.
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On a positive note, the black light poster did come down, after
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she failed in her attempt to affix it to the ceiling.
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Only a semester to go. And then my room is a hippy-free zone.
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!!========================================================================!!
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!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #330 - WRITTEN BY: CYN - 12/11/98 !!
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