The sordid confessions of a messy person
Pastiche
Benjamin Baxter |
KNOW THIS: I am very much a messy person, as much as the next slob. I look at mess and see cluttered order. And then I ignore it. Maybe if I had only cleaned myself up once in a while, none of this would have ever happened. Maybe all those lives would have been saved.
For you see, my desk was a beautiful thing. It stayed in its place, ne’er a smile upon its face, and though that was probably because it was an inanimate object, I felt closer to it than any other inanimate object in my room which didn’t require a electrical outlet.
 And then, former textbooks and many a syllabus from years past began to mingle in some perverse orgy. I didn’t want to stare, but darn if it wasn’t funny-looking. I’d have never thought that sleek Shaw’s Pygmalion would have turned asunder its pages for the monster which was my math text as it did. Frankly, I found behemoth Calculus rather derivative.
I even saw Wheelock doing unspeakable things to Auricula Meretricula, things which transcend the most imaginative libel. The rise and declensions of the Roman Empire, indeed.
Scantrons fill their own bubbles, Contemporary Linguistics terrorize The Elements of Style. And still the depravity continues to unkind depths. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of literature and antiseptic academia? I did once. I do not care to remember.
They would have continued the decline to literary oblivion were it not for the intervention of a roommate.
His insurmountable aggregate disgust and frustration, aggravated by the arrival of a peculiar smell in the corner, led him to brave stench and stink to throw floorbound filth atop the literary debauchery.
The transposition of literal filth onto the literary filth began a curious transubstantiation before my eyes. No longer did I see the giants among classic novels and novellas engaging in imponderable acts with the titans of textbooks. Instead I saw crackers atop Animal Farm, wrappers covering Angry Blonde, canned chili smothering Pinochet and Me.
And then it was only a matter of time before I usurped the control of my living area through diligent effort.
In retrospect, I announce my relief because, after all, it could have been much more perilous. Lady Chatterley and M. Butterfly could have been invited.
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