went to the gym today. Not because I needed to, I just think I look great in gym shorts. In fact, I know I do. Anyway, at the gym I saw this skinny little guy wearing a shirt that said "Fuck Stanfurd". Stanford is Cal's bitter rival. Apparently. Besides the annual Big Game, there really isn't that much opportunity to play out that enmity. Instead, Cal students wear shirts that say "Fuck Stanfurd".

Why is the name of our esteemed adversary misspelt? Is that perhaps so that when a student of the cardinal school (cardinal means red for those of you who aren't effete, presumptuous assholes) comes up and says "Why on earth would you wear such a libelous and offensive article of clothing?" (yes, they do talk like that.) the chode wearing it can say "no, it's not Stanford. It's Stanfurd, from that television show. You know, Stanfurd and Sons, I really hate that show." And then the Stanford guy with the stick up his ass will say "oh" and walk on.

So this goober, the one wearing the "Fuck Stanfurd" shirt, he looked like a freshman. He's been here a semester and a half, unless he's a spring admit, in which case he's only been here for half a semester, and already he feels so strongly our hostility with Stanford that he deems it necessary to tout this sartorial representation?

I bet he doesn't even know why Stanford and Cal are foes. Is it perhaps because in 1932 Thaddeus Stanford, after a night of drunken revelry slept with then-Chancellor Rochwurst's wife? Probably not. I don't really know either, but then, I'm not wearing the goddamn shirt

When I saw the "Fuck Stanfurd" shirt on this skinny little guy, I couldn't help but think that the shirt was actually saying: "Hello, my name is Twat... well, it's not my actual name, but it's what everyone calls me. I don't know what it means, but people laugh when they say it, so I must be a funny guy. I've lived alone with my mom for fifteen years. We sleep in the same bed, and we spoon. Sometimes I get a semi-hard-on. She tells me my dad died in a freak accident with a threshing machine, a hairless chihuahua and the mascot from the 49ers. Actually he just ran away with the bearded lady from the circus down the row. My mother breast fed me until I was seventeen. She says she does it because she loves her little 'pookie-pooh-angel-face-doll-boy (that's me!). Now I'm in college. I live in the dorm, but my mom comes by each day to do my laundry and make sure I'm wearing clean underwear. She tucks me into bed too. I wear this shirt to assert my own independence by putting down people whom I don't know, will probably never meet and who don't care using words that I was never allowed to say at home and still make me nearly soil myself when I conceive of uttering them. When I go home I have to hide the shirt in my top drawer under my Scooby Doo briefs so my mother doesn't see it. She doesn't like me using no-no words."

That's what I think every time I see someone wearing the shirt. So, really, what's the point?




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