Endless Summer Nights: the tragic soundtrack of biochemistry

The biochemists have just handed me my ass. A twisted group, the biochemists. See, the business of the biochemist is, at the expense of conveying anything useful or productive, to take sadistic delight in handing a person his or her ass. And so have they done with me-here’s your ass. Take it. We sure the hell don’t want it.

            But, despite how horrible it really should be to have ones ass handed to oneself by the biochemists, this development is not the most terrible tragedy facing me at the moment. It should be, to be sure, but it is not. Instead, I have become preoccupied with the unfortunate music the large and ugly captain of the campus shuttle now escorting me back to reality has chosen to play. Richard Marx. The asshole is listening to the shit-poor hack of Richard Marx. And I’ve become obsessed with this, focusing on this development with such unprecedented scrutiny that, had I applied the same level attention to the biochemists, my ass would have avoided the trauma of being handed to me. But seriously, Richard Marx? Do you all realize that while you are hard at work, right this very moment, fretting over the sadism of the biochemists or whatever the hell it is that you do, Richard Marx is somewhere collecting royalty checks for this? Does that not just bother the entire shit out of you? Dude’s raking it in for achieving nothing more than the ability to give the act of defecation a musical voice! Here you sit, all bruised and battered from having the twisted biochemists hand you your ass with such glee while Richard Marx, with his stupid gay blow-dried mullet of shame is somewhere on the beach collecting freaking royalty checks! The biochemists-who take such sexual delight in handing the poor bastards of the world their asses that one must assume that they differ from the majority of their peers in academia and are, in fact, Republican-sit and pound on your ass before they hand it to you all ruined and useless and, all the while, somewhere, where the mullet is still cool, the Marxist sits and smiles as that horrible atrocity “Endless Summer Nights” shits itself over the radio, knowing that he is about to receive another freaking check! What the hell is wrong with the world, everyone? The worker slaves, the laborer toils, the biochemists terrorize and Richard-shrunken testicle-Marx gets paid for lacking any talent whatsoever!!! Has everyone but me, who sits upon his biochemically ruined ass, gone insane?