After writing my first column for the Collegian, I was asked by my editor if I wanted to continue contributing to the paper on a weekly basis (this will forever be known as "Bruner's Folly"). "Wow, these guys must be in some dire straits," I thought. "But I really like this, so why not?" Upon accepting, I cemented my place as whatever the heck I am for the rest of... eternity? I don't know; not really sure on the timeframe. However, afterwards, I did have an unnerving thought: what if I run out of ideas? Would I be fired? Dumped in a drainage ditch and left for dead? "Nah, that'll never happen," I reassured myself. Well, I am now out of ideas, and may God have mercy on my soul.
I mean, I could have written about getting thrown out of two dressing rooms this past weekend or the stinky chicken incident, but who would want to read that? No one, that's who - and certainly not a respectable college student like you, who only reads hard news and the obituaries. After all, this is a humor column, not a place to be silly.
I need some inspiration, something interesting, something... Oh, I give up. "God, please help me to think of something funny to write about; I don't want everyone to realize what a fraud I am, not yet," I would plead. "I am willing to be the butt of your divine joke, just let me live to write about it." Well, uh, I guess I got my wish.
As many of my readers of the male persuasion likely know, Halo: Reach was released last week to critical acclaim, financial success and much hullabaloo from dorks like myself. I pre-ordered the final addition to the franchise and ensured that it would arrive in my CPO box on the day of release, Tuesday the 14th.
This day finally came and was greeted with much excitement; finally, a real excuse to skip class. I waited ever so patiently until my courses were finished for the day, and headed back to the dorm to put away my books (I wouldn't be seeing them for a while). "Man the battle stations!" I bellowed down the dark hallway. Wait, dark hallway? Yep, the power was out. That's right, a no-Halo, Facebook-offline, peeing-in-the-dark power outage.
I went to sulk at a piano in McCreless, thinking of all the fun being had by 12-year-olds across the world that I was being denied because some guy at Kentucky Utilities didn't quite get the whole "don't put your finger in a light bulb socket" thing. I raced through the five stages of grieving half a dozen times as I choked back thoughts of the Covenant armada laying waste to so many Spartans.
After I came back around to "acceptance" for the seventh time, I left the poorly-lit room to find that electricity had been restored! I squealed with ecstasy as I marched - nay, paraded! - gleefully to CPO. I glance at the clock on my cell phone: "Ah, half-past four, that's more than enough time to beat the first level before dinner! Look out world, I'm a man on a mission! I've got a plasma rifle and I'm not af - wait, 4:30... But, but CPO closes at four. No."
A cloud hung in the air above me for just a few moments before releasing a torrent of self-loathing and depression squarely onto my head. I literally held in my hand the golden ticket, and Willy Wonka just shut down the choclate factory. Well, until tomorrow that is, but who has time for patience nowadays? Not me, that's for sure.
Anyway, to make a long conclusion short - I may or may not have broken into CPO (spoiler: I didn't) and Reach may be the worst thing to happen to my GPA since the invention of the pop quiz. So, what's the moral of the story? You guessed it: don't leave an old chicken breast in your refrigerator for three weeks. Seriously, it smells like rotten eggs.
I mean, I could have written about getting thrown out of two dressing rooms this past weekend or the stinky chicken incident, but who would want to read that? No one, that's who - and certainly not a respectable college student like you, who only reads hard news and the obituaries. After all, this is a humor column, not a place to be silly.
I need some inspiration, something interesting, something... Oh, I give up. "God, please help me to think of something funny to write about; I don't want everyone to realize what a fraud I am, not yet," I would plead. "I am willing to be the butt of your divine joke, just let me live to write about it." Well, uh, I guess I got my wish.
As many of my readers of the male persuasion likely know, Halo: Reach was released last week to critical acclaim, financial success and much hullabaloo from dorks like myself. I pre-ordered the final addition to the franchise and ensured that it would arrive in my CPO box on the day of release, Tuesday the 14th.
This day finally came and was greeted with much excitement; finally, a real excuse to skip class. I waited ever so patiently until my courses were finished for the day, and headed back to the dorm to put away my books (I wouldn't be seeing them for a while). "Man the battle stations!" I bellowed down the dark hallway. Wait, dark hallway? Yep, the power was out. That's right, a no-Halo, Facebook-offline, peeing-in-the-dark power outage.
I went to sulk at a piano in McCreless, thinking of all the fun being had by 12-year-olds across the world that I was being denied because some guy at Kentucky Utilities didn't quite get the whole "don't put your finger in a light bulb socket" thing. I raced through the five stages of grieving half a dozen times as I choked back thoughts of the Covenant armada laying waste to so many Spartans.
After I came back around to "acceptance" for the seventh time, I left the poorly-lit room to find that electricity had been restored! I squealed with ecstasy as I marched - nay, paraded! - gleefully to CPO. I glance at the clock on my cell phone: "Ah, half-past four, that's more than enough time to beat the first level before dinner! Look out world, I'm a man on a mission! I've got a plasma rifle and I'm not af - wait, 4:30... But, but CPO closes at four. No."
A cloud hung in the air above me for just a few moments before releasing a torrent of self-loathing and depression squarely onto my head. I literally held in my hand the golden ticket, and Willy Wonka just shut down the choclate factory. Well, until tomorrow that is, but who has time for patience nowadays? Not me, that's for sure.
Anyway, to make a long conclusion short - I may or may not have broken into CPO (spoiler: I didn't) and Reach may be the worst thing to happen to my GPA since the invention of the pop quiz. So, what's the moral of the story? You guessed it: don't leave an old chicken breast in your refrigerator for three weeks. Seriously, it smells like rotten eggs.
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