College English Paper

Can you believe that I got an "A" on this in a senior writing class? How do you rate it? I did updated this piece with some comments as it was written in 1983. Enjoy!

The English Paper!
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All the characters in this story are based on real people. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is not purely coincidental. Names have been charged to protect the innocent as well as the guilty.

Chapter One

"School is a place that you make" Soccertize 1984


The pen is more powerful than the sword; but what happens when you run out of ink? This thought kept running through my head as I sat down to write my next literary masterpiece: an English paper that was due the next day. Before starting the paper I had a very important ritual to attend to. Most college students, at one point or another, have gone though this ritual, for it was the rite of excuses.

After staring at my navel for two or three minutes and removing the piece of lint from within, I came up with excuse number one, death. Since my death would be a blatant lie (for I’d have to give my excuse in person) it would have to a death in the family. My problem was that I’d run out of relatives to kill off (no, I didn’t poison Aunt Anne to get my final postponed (mourning for her gave me plenty of time to study though). Excuse number one would just not work anymore, I decided with a sigh.

Excuse number two - an illness or hospital stay. My professors were already wondering how I managed to live with my medical record, and the nurses at the campus health center kept telling me I should change my major to the theater department. I felt that it was time to give my illnesses a much needed rest. This thought left me rather queasy as I knew that I would have to look further down the excuse list.

Excuse number three - a dog ate my cat, after said cat ate my paper. I felt; since my last professor had suggested that cutting open the cat to retrieve said paper, that with the dog eating the cat, a professor would realize the impossibility of ever managing to retrieve that copy of my literary genius. I could bring evidence of rough drafts - coffee spotted, cigarette burned bits of paper, with crossed out lines, and words written in every direction. No professor would want to examine closely such a mess, and anyway I’d explain that I needed my notes for the rewrite. The only problem with this excuse was that I had used it to delay the paper last week.

After a half an hour or more of serious thought about excuses I realized, as I’d known for the last week, that I would have to write that fucking paper. The paper being due the next week meant that I would have to pull an all-nighter. I leaned back and closed my eyes in horror - darn, another one, I sighed.

Settling in for an evening of writing I realized, from many long experiences, would take supplies. Cigarettes, beer, snacks, and coffee were of course required to feed me during this ordeal. I ran over to the local deli to procure these necessities. Karen was working the counter and I had a talk with her about how much a pain in the ass homework was, and that if it wasn’t for the fucking English paper I would have taken her out after work. I also told her that if she wanted she should stop by and watch the late movie, for I knew that I would need a break about then.

Once back home I turned on the stereo (this was a device used before CDs were common), making sure that I had a large stack of records (petroleum or plastic based, very large, normally black disks used to store music before CDs) on the spindle (primitive disk changer, only could play one side of the disk without manual flipping of said disk) so I wouldn’t be bothered with having to change them every half an hour. I also started the coffee to percolating (well look it up if you don’t know). Opening my first beer I also lit up a cigarette ( I have never in my life lighted a cigarette; I have always lit them) and sat back to think. My first notion was that the tobacco, which destroys your lungs, is biodegradable and that the filter which is supposed to help save your lungs is not! It was not a very good topic for a ten page paper, also I wanted to avoid thinking about the damage my oral fixation was causing my wallet, and my body.

Luckily at this time the phone rang. Lifting myself out of my chair (a real-leather-deep-cushion-recliner that I had inherited form my Aunt Anne) I answered it. It was my Mom on the line. I spent half an hour telling her about how well school was going, and how I needed some more money due to the cost of inflation cutting deeply into my budget. As I hung up the phone I realized that I hadn’t called Max in a while, and that since I was standing next to the phone that it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Max was not home, but his roommate Fred was. Fred and I had an in depth conversation about how the dead stink. Fred was an archeology major and had realized King Tut was one of the biggest stinkers of all, for Tut (according to Fred) was buried with all of his servants including his animals. Fred said that it didn’t matter if the animals, or the servants were more important to Tut. His theory was that the stink of all those bodies must have reached high heaven. Thus, Fred hypothesized, that the bigger stink your grave site made, the larger the chance that you would get to angeldom. I felt that there were several things wrong with Fred’s arguments but he had training in Anthropology and I was only a lowly English major.

Finally, after telling Fred about the fact that I just had to write a fucking English paper, and how inhuman my professor was for giving me anything more than five hundred words, I got off of the phone and opened another beer. Sitting back into the chair I closed my eyes and listened to the records for a while. After the phone conversation with Fred I needed to regain my composure.

While sitting there I relaxed that if Fred was right no one was going to heaven now-a-days. Modern embalming methods supposedly keep the body from rotting and so it would not stink. Egypt, I vaguely remembered, had very advanced embalming methods too: so Fred could not be right, I concluded. Well so much for Anthropology majors I thought smugly.

At twelve thirty I finally took out a sheet of paper and carefully printed my name in the top left hand corner. After staring at the page for a while I drew a picture of a little boy holding a balloon. Art majors have it so easy, all they have to do is sit around and doodle all day long. "Maybe I’ve chosen the wrong field" I murmured to myself. Holding up my drawing I examined it with a calculating eye and realized that it was as good as any of Picasso’s later paintings or sketches. My parents would never go for the idea though, and I needed their money to support myself at college. It was hard enough to get them to support me as an English major, an ART MAJOR would never fly. I do, however, wish that I could sit all day and look at the nudes which pose for classes, what a life!

The last record played itself out and I got up for another beer, flipping the television on in passing. Maybe an idea would came to me during Twilight Zone (a late night bizarre, freaky, scary story show for you who are to young to remember it) I thought hopefully. Opening my beer I settled back to watch the show and the T.V. immediately fuzzed (pre cable folks). During the rest of the show I kept having to get up to fine tune the tube (you don’t know how easy we have it now). It seemed that the fates just did not want me to write tonight.

Knowing that Karen would be over soon and that I would have to have something to impress her with, I grabbed a dictionary and Roget’s Thesaurus and proceeded top string as many big words and descriptions as I could find, that would make sense, together. It went something like this....Alfred Drumantose, an unctuous schizophrenic, lubricated the illustrious constables right upper extremity with multitudes of spendulix thus indisputably assuring a discontinuance of said official’s lament about Miss Murphy’s dissipated body. Drumantose expressed the propriety of having his elongated bluish-gray Rolls Royce restored to it’s once stupendous caliber for Miss Murphy had impoverished the automobile with her arrogantly gorgeous body.

Oh sure I could have just wrote - That jerk Alfred bribed a cop to get out of a hit and run rap. He didn’t mind paying out cash or destroying a lovely lady, he was only concerned with the damage to the rolls. Karen would not have been impressed with the later prose. She loved not knowing what I was saying, which was good as I rarely knew what I was saying either. Also a word like mellifluous would set her to flowing all over me.

Leaning back into the firm support of the chair I thought about how nice it would be to get into her pants tonight. If only I didn’t have to write this fucking English paper - damn classes - always getting in the way of my sex life. Well, maybe I could get the paper done before she arrives, I thought to myself.

I pulled out a new sheet of paper (this is in the days before personal computers were readily available - - - believe it or not -) all fired up to write a masterpiece (well at least a B+ paper), but sex was still on my mind. My thoughts drifted off the virgin sheet to the first girl that I had known (in the biblical sense (why is it the biblical sense...think about that for a moment)). Her name was Alexandria; she was fourteen and I was thirteen. Older women have always been the downfall of younger men.

Alexandria was in a sex education class - for she went to a modern school where they believed in the telling you everything. The instructor had passed out rubbers (or to the scientific minded prophylactics) to the class. Alexandria, being a good student, figured that since her instructor had passed the things out that he meant them to be used as a homework project. I, being devilishly handsome (ummmmmm, well...), was of course to be her partner in this project.

I remember that day well. Our respective parents had gone out to have dinner and to see the Broadway rendition of Equis (I had asked to go but my parents felt that Equis was not a proper show for my young mind). Alexandria had been left by her parents at my house so that we could keep each other entertained. Not seconds after our parents had left the house Alexandria asked me to kiss her. I replied "Yuck!". That seemed to shut her up so I went back to watching the T.V..

Alexandria after watching me for a while went upstairs. After the Partridge Family, or what ever garbage I was then watching, was over there was nothing on but the news (we only had 6 channels - can you imagine that?), so I wandered upstairs. Alexandria was laying on my bed, and asked me to sit next to her. I did, at least it beat kissing her. She then told me that if I took off my clothes she would take off hers. I said "only if you take yours off first.". She replied "I’ll take off my shirt if you take off yours.". I, of course, answered "you first.".

The bargaining over, she drew her shirt over her head, taking her bra off with it. I realized that this wasn’t going to be all that boring an evening after all. Her breasts were fun to touch, pear shaped and very interesting to me but different then the ones I had glimpsed in some magazines at a friends house. I was disappointed that no milk came out when I squeezed them. She then asked me to turn out the lights, and I, swinging into the spirit of things, did so. I had to turn them back on a little later so we could figure out how to put the rubber on.

We spent the summer stealing rolling moments in bed together when ever possible. There were draw backs besides finding time to fuck. Like the first time I attempted to buy rubbers - the lady behind the counter gave me so much shit when I asked for the medium sized prophylactics that I made Alexandria buy them from then on. Also we really didn't have much in common accept that we both had a secret and we did enjoy the act though we never did much beside the basic. After that summer my parents sent me away to school, and I was left with nothing but my hands and a few letters pledging undying love. Plus a lot of dirty socks.....

Everybody tells me that they wish that they had lost their virginity in their early teens. But I wish I had kept it. One bite wasn’t enough and between fourteen and seventeen I was so busy trying to get into women’s pants that all the girls avoided me like the plague. Also it was sex without even real friendship and that is sad, ones first time should be more that an experiment and more than carnal need. One should learn the ritual and the pleasure of taking time and learning each other though steps and trust. Sex shouldn’t be discovered just to discover it. The only good thing to come out of those years, for me, was a very strong handshake.

The sound of the doorbell brought me out of repose, and being a polite fellow, I hollored "come on in!" Max appeared in my living room a moment later, and said (for he is a polite fellow too), "What the Fuck are you doing shithead?, and then he sat down. We proceeded to have the same conversation that we almost always have we would meet.

Me "Just a fucking English paper, been working on it all night!".

Max "I’m blowing off my work tonight.".

Me "Look man, see I got ta write this shit or my ass is grass - can’t go out tonight - copa?".

Max "Speaking of grass, I’ve got some gooooood shit tonight.".

Me "Well roll up a thin one - I got ta work tonight and I can’t get to stoned".

Max "Matter of fact I got one rolled, Dude.".

Me "Hey, that smells good"!".

---- 12.75 minutes deleted ---

Me "Cough cough, lungs ain’t what they used to be."

Max "Uh huh."

Me " Ya know that the jerks teaching us are just trying to brainwash us and plug us into the system peacefully."

Max "Uh huh."

Me "Watt is a, is a, a, um, a scumbag. It’s him that Reagon keeps to um, let big business put their garbage in." (80’s political garbage just ignore it or add this years names)

Max "Uh huh."

Me " Max, when you are stoned do you ever say anything but uh huh?".

Max "Uh huh."

Me "I’ll get some beer out of the fridge."

Max "YEAH!".

Me : Ha! You do say something else!".

Max "Uh huh."

Me "oh well."

We drank up one of the six packs and Max got up to leave.

Me "hey Man you leaving?".

Max "Uh huh."

Me " that was some good shit mon. Thanks!"
Max - well you know what Max said. Max is a communications major with a 3.4 average - beats me how he does it - never seen him straight for more than an hour, and the only time that I’d ever seen him write anything was to jot down a girl’s phone number - he misspelled her name.

I realized that it was time for coffee if I was going to stay awake and write that fucking English paper. The coffee that I made earlier had evaporated so I started a fresh batch. My coffee pot has a lid with a little glass handle on the top so that you can see when the coffee perks. I sat and watched it, trying to guess when the first geyser would rise. Usually there is a low rumbling noise before the coffee spurts but this time the pot caught me unawares and I almost fell out of my chair.

Chapter two

This chapter was not written due to the author falling asleep on the kichen floor. He thus ruined the projected conclusion of the story. Karen (smarter than originally thought) never showed up to watch the late movie. The author, upon waking, realized the need for an excuse. An old high school favorite was remembered - battery acid got spilt on my paper. And so he got another chance.