it's monday squelch time
After attending the offical Cal Slam Team Poetry Slam, junior Brandon Smith declared that he "no longer feels like living."
Asked to explain this sudden urge to eradicate himself, Smith explained, "It is inevitable that I will grow up to be either racist, sexist, or a homophobe, if I'm not already. I might as well do the world a favor and kill myself."
Smith's friends think that this self-loathing may have been triggered by more than fifteen slam poets ranting about their experiences with racial profiling, belligerent penises, and the time that one straight white guy shot me down when I was trying to hit on him and called me a raging boner fag.
Smith was reported to have left the Slam with his head down, too embarrassed to look anyone in the face. "I just don't see any hope for me or the white race," he said sullenly. "It seems like everything we do causes everyone so much pain. We certainly are the bane of human existence."
As Smith walked home, a black bum asked Smith for some money. Smith refused at first. Then, as if struck by lightning, he wheeled around and dropped ten dollars in the bum's cup. "See! Today I'm refusing money to the African American bum. What will I be doing tomorrow? Raping his women and burning down his houses? And why did nobody say anything when I refused to give him money? How can they tolerate my blatant racism?!"
It took Smith one and a half hours to walk down Telegraph because he stopped and apologized to every woman, minority, and presumed gay person alike.