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by Rocko Bonaparte
The average male RIT engineering student is a cut above all the rest. Oh my God, you're already laughing? OK, maybe they're they're not. Medical doctors, psychiatrists, philosophers, artists... you name it; Compared to your high-school-educated dumbass, they're most certainly a cut above the rest. However, I view the engineer in less elevated terms. Think of it as a "lateral advancement." So while we have refined many of our senses, plenty others suffer. Indeed, certain parts of our brains (like the ones that can take criticism) shrink to peanuts, until they implode in our heads. The remaining mess is of no significance unless it impedes us from calculating the terminal velocity of a falling body.
So yes, our understanding of these mystical "she-creatures" is somewhat lacking. For those of us so fortunate to study the revolutionary arts of engineering, the female is nothing more than a unicorn -- some beautiful, mythical beast of which we wish to ride on and fly away. By senior year, even the females begin to look like men. Strong men at that. I'm not at that level in my academic career, but ex-females are already beating the shit out of me for my lunch money. It hurts, and I cry.
Our interpersonal skills suffer, languish and vanish. Nothing but a machine, pulling a crank. Running the same UNIX commands day in and day out for some huge corporation. No end in sight. Must masturbate.
I just wrote my autobiography.
In all honesty, engineers sometimes want to crawl up and cuddle something. It's not what we always fantasize about, that's for sure. I laugh at the thought of somebody pulling their string under the covers, muttering "Oh baby, I love the way you cuddle, tickle me in my tummy hehe, I'm so ticklish there. Oh baby, baby! I love how you actually laugh at my jokes! Awwwww!!!! ...... ikhasucoghuvogsaiugfa isyfrgyiqwrfy iygahsvbf hvasf.... sigh." [you guess what the latter part meant].
And another truth; we fantasize of such wild things, but would openly vomit all over ourselves in sheer anxiety if such an opportunity ever arose. You have to give some credit to our friend T-Bone. He has some guts. Especially with that paper bag thing. He might even be president someday.
Nonetheless, I occasionally need to goad myself to sleep with the thought I'm sharing the bed with another. Nothing promiscuous, just the warmth of a she-creature when the bedsheets aren't warm enough. However, reaching that level of intimacy will require some severe maturation. Now seriously, I'm considered quite mature (except when I write). Granted, people think I'm old than I am unless they see me. One can even claim I have the maturity of a 70-year-old... cynical... senile, grandpa. When I talked to some kids at the local high school for National Engineering Week, you can bet they left school that day not believing in Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and the government.
So it's possible to conceive large theorems, read complex books, deduce great things of the universe, and analyize ourselves, but suddenly opening up to another person (a female for that matter!) is a major stumbling block for us. Remember, we're only advancing laterally while we're at RIT.
And what a terrible place to learn about love! Winter rolls around, and everybody turns on eachother. Professors eat students' heads off unless they know the right buttons to push. The sun barely shines. When it does, we lower the blinds. We make a stupid joke about it and leave it at that. We bitch and moan, to each other, day in and day out, like tossing a hot potato. Then the weather gets warm, and we somehow feel at peace in the world. Final exam time. Shit.
As for our friend T-Bone, he assures me the girl in the shower was not dumped within a week. He still calls her up for service calls every once in awhile. The shower incident was just a kind of freak thing. T-Bone was kind of hungry during the whole incident, but didn't want to turn a nice lady down. I wouldn't want to make a girl cry either. T-Bone also wants everybody to know he keeps his girls well-fed and cared for. They just have to cook.
Regarding your problems with being single, you're not as well-off as you might think. You see, you have me on the teeth, but I have large breasts too! The Scientology clinic in Hollywood gave me a lower IQ than you, but I think it was because I admitted to being Roman Catholic. They really hate stuff like that, which keeps them from unlocking my wallet... I mean my full potential [don't sue me!]. But I make up for it using the sheer Vulcan logic that I learned from my professors:
If there's a problem, flunk it. If you can't flunk it, spin it around, and fuck em'
So it's obvious we have little concept of lovemaking! All we've ever experienced is sudden, drastic violation! Repeatedly! On the desk! Upside-down! With our clothes on, no less!
BTW -- if you're red-headed, your mine. Order an official "Rocko Bonaparte branding iron," heat it up, and slap it on your backside. You will be well-fed, clothed and cared for, even if you didn't have much choice in the matter. And if you have a killer sense of humor, you must, for sure, write more for Gracies Dinnertime Theatre. Once a week, due Sunday evening at best.
If you're quite tall, might you think you impose on us little midgets? Ah yes, the thought that we get scared shitless when a girl talks to us. I can't speak for everybody, but my response to whatever a girl says never seems to make them happy. Consider a random generator, which makes responses that are usually in context, but rarely expected. After awhile... actually... two minutes, conversation breaks down into a series of "well, see you later."
Am I bragging about this? Sure I am! We somehow take pleasure in this. Engineers like the one-up each other, especially in personal misfortune. What have I to gain with a girl like you? Total happiness? I can't do that! The day I'm happy is the day these issues become half as heavy. Perhaps more, if we use all my cynicism and bitterness as a metaphor for, say, 20-ton weights. The problem with happiness is it always taste the same. Boooooooring. It wasn't good enough for Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, it's not good enough for me.
I'll send out a little secret that's worked against me and others. It seems the thought of a female liking us is enough for us to like them. In some cases. Sure, physical beauty always helps (our brains have not fully developed yet). So, if you want to initiate a conversation with that terget of yours, look that little bastard right in the eyes. Like two little drill presses, look through his eyes like you're trying to find a path to his pants from his insides. Then ask him for a cheeseburger, if you're hungry. You will get your cheeseburger. His grades will plummet, only being able to doodle your face in his notebooks. He'll start playing sedated music to match his sedated spirit. Then strike like a hawk. Carry him to great heights, and drop him.
Well, you don't have to do that last part, but I was enjoying the Sun Tzu twist that paragraph was taking.
Now look at me! Got me all riled up when I should be getting to bed. Radiating heat like it's 80 degrees outside. Oh wait, it is 80 degrees outside here in California. Want to come by for some coffee? It's a 1.5 hour drive to Lake Tahoe from here too.
PS: THE KENTUCKY FRIED MOVIE IS THE BEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME! WORD TO YOUR MOTHER!
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