Separating the Wheat from the Chaff

I have seen some crazy things in my day as a Harvard student. Like the time back in '97 when the students held Rudenstine hostage until he authorized the sale of crack in the student center.

No wait, that was UC Berkeley. We don't have a student center. My bad.

But my point stands. There are some absurd moments and even more absurd people in the Harvard student body.

Some of these people do not belong here. They are mistakes, if you will.

Either too dumb or too weird (yes, there is such a thing as too weird for Harvard), these kids really have no place among us.

Don't get all humanist on me. You know what I'm talking about: examples of idiocy and ridiculousness that range from the incipient nose-picker in section to the kiddie porn dealer in Mathews (I know who you are).

As a responsible member of the community, I have volunteered for this most important of missions--to rid our school of these undesirables.

I had some people in mind, and called on some associates of mine to help uncover these undesirables. I here present you with the five worst offenders who should be targeted for removal immediately.

Target number one: Sausage Lady.

I was sitting in my Cold War Historical Studies lecture. It was my first day in class, and I was bleary-eyed and scruffy-tailed after three years of the stupid Core.

My roommate, who spent a semester in Spain, was not granted Foreign Cultures credit. (More on the Core at a later date, those bastards!)

I had heard great things about this Cold War class and was into it. Then I heard the sound of plastic ruffling to my right. "That's cool," I thought. "Someone's brought a snack. How efficient."

I wished I had brought a snack. I especially am fond of those Entenmann's Pop'ems you can get at Store 24 anytime, except that one hour when they actually close. What a scam! (More on the insidious lie that is capitalism later.)

In any case, upon looking to my right, I saw a woman whip out an entire pepperoni sausage. This was not cool. No really. It was disgusting.

I'm not talking beef jerky here, folks. I mean this was some ol' Wursthaus Oktoberfest Flintstone caveman sausage. But that's not all.

The way she ate it made things worse: open-mouthed chewing with putrid sausage juice running down her face.

Sorry Sausage Lady, but you gots to go! Sloppily consuming smelly flesh in lecture is behavior unbecoming a Harvard student. Take a year off, and get some home training!

Target number two: Junior Math Achievement Boy.

So a group of seniors were conversing in the dining hall, making plans for how most efficiently to burn textbooks. In the conversation someone mentioned the fact that there were 100 days left until graduation.

A junior male, overhearing this, commented, "I guess that means we have two hundred days left!"

Wrong, Fermat. Ability to perform simple arithmetic along with knowledge of the calendar is a prerequisite for Harvard admission. You get expulsion!

Target number three brings us back to the lecture hall. When properly used, lecture halls can be the ultimate source of wisdom and learning.

But they can also be olfactory deathtraps when victimized by Funkmaster Flex from Fairytales.

I am talking about the ungentleman in the fourth row with the apparent fear of deodorant.

The students surrounding "Skunky Brewster" spent the entire lecture pretending to turn pages so they could fan away his toxic stench.

By his failure to adequately address basic bodily odors, Skunky here adversely affected the learning environment, and thus must hit the road.

Target number four: back to the Cold War lecture (must be something about the type of people attracted to the Cold War).

In this class, we spent a lot of time discussing things military: covert operations, intelligence gathering techniques, nuclear armaments.

I guess it is expected that with the predominantly male class, the testosterone levels would result in some excited students. But the Army Ranger in row C needed to chill.

It seems that every time the professor would mention death or bombs or tragedy, this soldier of fortune felt the need to cheer.

Now, I have nothing against ROTC. My sister did it, and she could kill me with her pinky. I respect that. But a note to nukeboy: War is not cool! You do not pass go! Get out.

Target number five, the final target, is not a student, but deserves honorable mention: Unicycle Man.

It was the first snow of the school year, and 200 or so first-years spontaneously engaged in a mass snow ball fight.

I had been hiding behind the John Harvard statue after my camouflage snow suit attracted too much attention.

Out of the blue, and man rolls through the Yard on a unicycle.

I'll give you a minute to think about this. Winter. Snow. 200 savage first-years engaged in anarchic warfare. Man on a unicycle.

The mob stopped fighting, and all was quiet as people noticed this idiot. My exaggerated memory has him whistling "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood."

Appropriately, he was brutally attacked by the mob, and his body was scattered across Loker as a reminder to all that dumbness is not allowed.

That's all for now, people. I'd like to thank The Saboteur, the Social Analyst and the International Woman of Mystery for all their assistance.

Baratunde R. Thurston '99 is a philosophy concentrator in Lowell House. His column appears on alternate Tuesdays.