OCR Text |
Show Anting Alone Page 190 that they've noticed anything un-anthropological, or even anthropological in it! You could do like I'm going to do on my stupid fucking little 'creative' thesis: just wipe your ass and shoot off your dick and blow some snot-boogers at random on a half-ream or so of fifty-percent rag bond, and the stupidfucks on your pud committee will probably congratulate you for 'abandoning sense,' because, in doing so, you have succeeded in doing some nameless, sleazy, jaded, decadent thing that only people who read too many books can appreciate. If the profs at wherever it is you're going are anything at all like the profs at wherever it is I'm going (except Dr. Abraham), you'll have absolutely no problem pushing your thesis - or is it to be a dissertation? - through. And you may even be able to maintain a small portion of your personal integrity, too." Sam here realized that he was counseling Axelrad on how to conduct his Chicagoan life, using Kanoradoan insights. Not an easy thing to do. "I don't know what in God's name you all are doing up here," continued Sam, as he seated himself on a styrofoam rock and began to refresh his hike-wasted body with huge amounts of the wine and dope he'd brought for his little tree-dwelling Jiminy Cricket conscience-boy here. "But, let's say you guys were pulling some really apeshit stuff - you know, Ax, like when us big guys used to stick your head down among the urinal mints back at Tuttle Hall Prep, and you'd go home and play with matches all night and just about fricassee yourself all alone in your room while the rest of us were home snug in our beds wholesomely jacking off. I don't know about the rest of these creeps around us, Ax, but your tormented early history would be just right for an arsonist or a political terrorist." |