Bored in class

"I have this weird fear: I'm afraid I'll witness a divine apparition. I'm afraid that Jesus or the Blessed Virgin Mary or St. Teresa of Avila will materialize in my kitchen and dictate messages of earth-shaking importance. Then I'll be carrying around some terrible knowledge, like the exact date of the end of the world, and all the horrors that will precede it--plagues, scorpions, politicians and such. I'll have to tell everyone to repent or to roast in eternal hellfire, not to mention that all sorts of strangers will want to gawk at my kitchen and they'll track dirt all over my apartment. The worst part is that I'll be written about by a bunch of scuzzballs much like myself, and they'll call me a fraud and a raving loon (they will not be far wrong) and dismiss me as an opportunist...What makes this fear truly irrational is that I am the last person whom a divine entity will appear. This is not humility--I mean it. I am nasty, I have a horrible temper, and I say awful things...The point of all of this is I'm a jerk. I'm not proud of it, and I do make an effort to be good, but that's that. As Wayne and Garth so succinctly put it, I'm not worthy."

--Jessica Zafra, great columnist, to whom I owe much of my sarcasm

My eyelids feel heavy and I willingly sink into a dream, the one where Colin Farrell’s giving me a full-body massage. He has just finished working on my derriere when a voice slices through my consciousness like a fork scraping on a blackboard. My eyelids fly open and Colin disappears.

Aargh! There goes my predator classmate. Always sitting on the edge of her seat, frothing at the mouth, ready to jump on the professor. Now we're subjected to her intellectual mercy. Finally, she shuts up, a smug expression displayed on her face, fully believing she's contributed something to the sum of human knowledge.

The professor is killing us with boredom. Listening to him is as exciting as watching a person breathe.

Zzzzzzz....

Anagrams. I’m writing with my left hand. This is fun. Dormitory becomes "Dirty room," the countryside becomes "No city dust here," mother-in-law becomes "Woman Hitler." Fits, ha ha ha. Now I’m exercising both sides of my brain. Ever since I was beamed up into an alien mothership where an extraterrestrial device was planted in my head, I have realized that I was destined to dominate the universe. Thus, any brain exercise is highly welcomed. And no, I don’t consider those disturbing TV quiz shows where any half-awake moron can have his 15 seconds of fame whereas the circus ringmaster, er, host, can prove that she is the Moron Master well beyond the show.

Correct!