Last week I was sitting in one of my classes, which for practicality’s sake we’ll call Useless Academic Bullshit 351d-1a4, when it became apparent that the professor himself had grown tired of spouting Useless Academic Bullshit. I became excited by the prospect of leaving my class early. It looked as though the professor was going to free us from purgatory a good 10-15 minutes ahead of schedule, which would give me just enough time to run to my favorite bathroom (the one on the ground floor of the Tuscarora Building in CIW always provides the bowels their due privacy in a clean environment that’s well stocked with T.P.)! But then, just as I was preparing for my early departure, there came a voice as shrill as the call of the Nazgul, piercing my ears with a sound so horrifying my very soul shuddered. He had spoken…

I’m talking of course, about the douchebag. There’s at least one in every class.

Just as I was recognizing that class would be let out early, he was doing the same. But he was not plotting the shortest possible path to colonic bliss. No, instead the douchebag views extra class time as an opportunity to verbally fellate the professor.

Before I continue, let’s take a minute to examine the life of a douchebag:

Suffering from a case of middle-child syndrome, and accompanying extreme ambition, the douchebag feels the need to make his voice heard nearly all the time, even though he almost never has anything to say.

The douchebag is most certainly an outspoken member of the Student Association.

There are many douchebags in the Student Association.

They join together each week in an unholy alliance of vaginal cleanliness to make sure that a meeting that really should take 45 minutes to an hour, actually takes two to three hours (half of the time it took each week last year, they proudly point out). The vast majority of the members of the S.A., who indeed are not douchebags, but instead are good ordinary humans, sit and watch with a combination of awe and raw hatred as the douchebags motion to vote on whether or not to vote on a referendum.

“You can have your sports and beer pong”, the S.A. douchebags say, “we’re content to study the S.A. constitution until we can quote it like it’s Genesis.”

Now that we know what kind of person the douchebag is, let’s return to my class:

He raised his hand, and the professor scanned the room, desperate to find anyone else in the class to talk to. The professor did not want to be verbally fellated by a douchebag that day. But no one else raised a hand. They too wanted to leave class early. Reluctantly, the professor was forced to recognize the outstretched arm of the feminine hygiene product sitting in his front row.

“Professor,” the douchebag said, “If (academic bullshit) were the case, then wouldn’t that mean (pitifully contrived and forcefully pieced together conclusion)? Because (someone’s last name) says in the textbook that (misquote, or line taken out of context).”

The rest of the class, now absolutely disgusted with the douchebag, could only watch as the professor did his best to refrain from calling the douchebag an asshole, and instead replied in a way that both told him he was wrong and still fed his ego.

By the time the exchange was over, the world no longer had time for my excretory system. That kid was no longer a douchebag in my mind, he had been elevated to “complete dick.”

I guess either way he was heading for the same place.

Graham Kates is a junior political science major.