Hey! That’s not the title I wrote. Damm editor! And my name is David. How could you forget my name? I gave you the best years of my life. Don’t tell me you have forgotten Paris, that cafe, and that waiter… Jean Luc. And what do you mean by diary? This isn’t a diary! It’s a journal. This isn’t some collection of prepubescent fantasies about Alex P. Keaton and Kirk Cameron. It’s a manly journal. Please respect it for what it is.
Dear Manly Journal,
I just got back from my first day at Haas. Blessed be he. Wow. I am really tired. And I’ve already worn the kneepads thin.
These really cool guys asked me to come to their house to drink beer and play fussball. When I got there, they said I have the unique opportunity to pay them so I cam be their slave for just ten weeks. after that, they said I would be allowed in at Henry’s when they go. We cam stand in a big group and talk about how cool we were in high school and them complain about how the available selection of females doesn’t meet with our high standards. Because they don’t, you know. And I get to wear this pin. Their president says these are the things I need to do to be cool at this school since I don’t come from So-Cal like he does.
Today I learned the techniques necessary to step on blue collars. But its really hard to do the farther your nose is wedged. I also had a power-schmooze lunch with Jeff “da whipboy’ at the alumni banquet. He works in cubicle 43 in the stapling division in the paper division in the communications department at the Oakland office of Pic-and-Save. I asked him to marry me. That should get me the job.
I couldn’t sleep last might. I was just so darned angry. It’s those bourgeois econ majors. I hate them. There’s only one oppressive capitalist major on campus and it’s at Haas. Get your own job fairs. Get your own fight song! And get a real building. Evans! What a joke. Losers.