Don: Hey, somebody cancel my meetings. I was supposed to leave campus at ten, but I’m delayed because of some sort of campus revolt. It’s like the anti-war hippy protests, but most of the chicks, and some of the guys are wearing bras. Hundreds of students are protesting. Does anybody attend classes here?
I think my lecture on advertising started out well, but somehow the students must have had somewhere else to be ’cause some had to leave early. I began out by asking some of the minority football players how the boys on the team were playing this year. They must have had a practice, because they were the first out the door.
I showed some slides about how sex sells, and some girls had a fit. Get somebody to look up “patriarchal hegemony” or some crap. Never mind. Don’t look it up, it’ll only make you stupider.
By that time, the football team was outside the lecture hall, and most of the gals had left for a “safe place.” Three frat boys told me where it was located, and we went right in.
So I’m standing there in the designated “safe place,” looking for an ashtray, and asking if any of these gals know how to make a good Manhattan, and most of them run screaming from the room like I’d insulted somebody. One of the chicks screams “I will not be a victim,” and I told her to calm down. I told her she’s pretty enough to probably find a husband, and if not, there are lots of secretary jobs. I don’t think she understood me. She was wailing like an injured animal, and her two lesbian buddies were snapping their fingers.
They’ve got me in a back office now. I can see the fires from the burning books from here. Some of the girls are holding signs saying “No, YOU make me a sandwich.” Get the creative people on that. What does that even mean?
The campus is shut down, and the police are going to try to sneak me out to my car after dark. They won’t let me smoke inside, so I’m going to put my head outdoors and try to get a read on what started this all.