Censored.

Those motherfucking c*#ts! Ok, let's do a little experiment. Say you're a college I've attended for a few years and graduation is comming up. You ask me to be the speaker. You give me no parameters for what to say or how to say it. When I ask I receive the stock answer "I'm sure whatever you come up with will be fine." Having asked me who you've known for a few years, you should know what to expect. Alright then. I'll do it.

A certain uniform pressure from everone expecting you to write something good causes the speech in question becomes a bitch to write. The desire to write something that lives up to the *ahem* high level of professionalism demonstrated daily at the Wonder Blog, along with a delightful speech by Stephen Colbert spuring you on, you put in a week's worth of thinking and writing. Mostly in panicked spurts. When you watch TV, you feel guilty. When you order a grappling hook off the internet, you think you should have spent that time working on your speech. Even simple pleasures like getting drunk in the afternoon seem somehow irresponsible in light of the work you're not doing.

So when you finally get the speech done they inform you, haughtily, that they want to approve your speech before you do it. ...Fine. You drive to the school, drop off a few copies, and then relax. It's done. Or so you think. About four hours later you get a call from a nay-saying hag from the school, one whose job has never been made clear to me. She seems to be a appendix, serving no beneficial purpose to the school, but having the ability to become inflamed and ruin everyone's fun. She is a joyless, gossip of a woman, who passive aggressively demands thinsg as she hides behind the mantle of corporate office speak. For instance, one of her criticisms was that she "knows I'm a very 'I' oriented person" but I "need to have some 'we' oriented thoughts in this speech. You were selected to represent your class." To which I considered replying: "Ok, I'll get wasted and show up half an hour late bitching about how much I hate this college. That would be as representative as I can possibly imagine."

So, the day before graduation two *deleted* ...let's say... women, are asking me to rewrite my entire speech. I have a plan. What I'm going to do is... On second thought, I shouldn't talk about it beforehand. I don't want to be shut down (again) before I have a mic in front of me. Too many people read this blog. But I'll tell you what the new speech can't include.

• Any reference, sarcastic or otherwise, to "Galactic Lord Xenu"
• No speculation on whether or not Tom Cruise has yet purchased an "anti-psychologist playpen" for his daughter.
• Speech must not start with "what up?"
• If possible remove any references to your being chosen as graduation speaker as a "serious error in judgement"
• "Other personal ranting on Peter Pan primary school that would be better left for a separate occasion." (And just when the fuck might that be?)
• No "shout outs" to "peeps" (even as a light hearted reference to why I had a hard time writing the speech)
  
• No including the word "drunk"
  
• No referencing what your future plans are. (Even if it is used as an example within the "be flexible" thesis of the speech).
• No having any jokes of any kind. After all, as I was informed by the shrill purposeless harpy "I just want you to know that very important people from Chicago will be at this graduation, and you need to think about how you want to present yourself to them." (And I would care about this... why. They aren't important to me in the least. If you were banking on my reverance you're greatly overdrawn.)
  

Now they give me some parameters. Here's a paragraph of the kind of propagandic bullshit I'm supposed to (but have no intention to) write.

"Make them feel good about what they have learned at RMC--professionalism, real world skills, team work, and whatever--and confident that they can and will succeed and that it will be more important than ever that they give something back, be it to the college, their community, or society at large. "

In short. F that noise. If I even half believed any part of the above I'd have likely written it in the first place. Instead I wrote a brief bit of well wishery that wouldn't have been as boring or stereotypical as what they'd have me do now. As a result, I'm going to keep my comments breif. As in, 60 seconds of the most generic "we" based drivel I can come up with. Then sit back down. Thanks alot assholes.

- Scott