There's a Bad Moon on the Rise · 11:48pm Oct 17th, 2016
So, today's my birthday! I'm twenty-two! Give me stuff!
Woo!
No? Okay. Here's the story on how I accidentally seduced a teacher while on a caffeine high.
Look, let me share a secret with you: I'm a goddamn idiot. I'm the fucking stupidest man you've ever seen. I once headbutted a table to see if I could (and I still have the scar). I once tried to open a can of tuna and we had to throw away the shirt I was wearing because the blood wouldn't go away (and I still have the scar). I didn't know how to tie my shoes till I was seventeen. I've gotta remind myself to eat now and then, because I just plain forget to do that. [1]
[1] I know some of you are wondering if this is a lie, or some kind of exaggeration. It isn't. I once lost my wallet, and I had to go to the police and give my data so they could look for it. They asked me what my mother's name is. Not her maiden name, her actual fucking name.
Without my ID, where it's listed, I couldn't tell the police officer. I literally forgot my mother's name.
I am not kidding when I say I'm an idiot.
Life is hard when you're this fucking dumb. But there's a trick to go by! See, remember how I have absolutely no fucking talent, so I hide it by being weird? This is something similar.
I have the intellect of an acetonaemic cow. But I hide that by talking a lot.
I'm constantly twitchy. I'm constantly talking. I never shut the fuck up. I talk so fast that most people can't understand what the hell I'm saying, and with all the goddamn noise I'm constantly spewing, they just assume I have something to say. So they go "Wow, this guy must be smart!" I might be babbling about fucking Babilonia for all I care, but they'll still be impressed!
See, that's the thing. You don't have to be smart, you just have to look smart.
Read a lot, study, do something hard for a living, learn a new language, know a lot of random nonsensical trivia, whatever. Half that stuff isn't as hard as it sounds if you're just a tiny bit determined, but it sounds impressive. I'm getting two university degrees at the same time because I legitimately hate myself, and people think that's an actual achievement! I've talked my way out of countless shit. I've never, in my entire life, finished an oral exam -- the teacher just gets tired and gives me a perfect score just so I close my big stupid mouth.
Picture that. Picture somebody who won't shut up underwater. Something that has enough hysteric energy inside to be constantly bouncing. I have so many nervous ticks I don't even remember them all. I once fingered a woman and she got pregnant.
Now picture that motherfucker, and add six times the amount of caffeine he's used to drink.
The only reason I didn't immediately explode is because I was too busy talking about the sociological impact of Family Guy to my roommate, and the subtle but extremely important difference between catharsis and normalization in storytelling and interactive media. I don't think he even knew I was there! He was higher than a cat on heroin! Shit, chances are he wasn't even there and I spent two hours talking to a potted plant in my living room. It didn't matter. Caffeine in your body. Talk.
Have in mind -- I drank the coffee on the night prior. I didn't sleep, I just spent the entire night on a frenzy, and then I drank more coffee when the sun came out because what the shit we're all gonna die some day anyway. Who gives a fuck. Definitely not me.
So this entire situation is actually twice as retarded, because at this point I should be riding down the caffeine wave. I think that the adrenaline of not sleeping and the fact that I'm legitimately a bloody moron mixed up with the new caffeine in my body.
So anyway, there I am, rambling to the potted plant about the correct way to educate our children and Stephen Jay Gould's Mismeasure of Man. [2] Contesting the definition of racism that we Spaniards seem to have. Explaining the life story of Alfred Hitchcock, because at this point I'm not as much rambling as I am reaching Nirvana and documenting my inner journey in oral form.
[2] I don't know shit about sociology! I just read a book or two and then talked with Chuckfinely once! And yet, that potted plant was ready to suck my dick at any moment! That's how good I am at faking this!
Then the time comes, and I gotta go to class.
I didn't run to the fucking thing, but I sure was close. Now, the class itself was called "Derecho Financiero y Tributario II", which can be translated as just "Tax Law", apparently. It's a class about taxes. Literally. Two hours and a half of talking taxes, and every single law related to that.
This is a class that could lull a cocaine-ridden Ludwig Van Beethoven to sleep. Usually, I just read some book while the teacher blabbers about whatever and study the book by myself later, because it's honestly faster.
But that day? That day I'm not falling asleep. That day I'm on fucking fire.
This is where the countless hours I spent wasting my life on the Internet pay off. It's not the first time it's happened -- the people in my environment honestly can't speak in English, so 90% of what American, Australian, Canadian, and British people consider pop culture are completely unknown in here. Last year, my stupidly deep knowledge of the 80's Cola Wars earned me three extra points in Marketing and Strategy. My understanding of Ayn Rand and (for some reason?) Jackson Pollock got me such a good score in History of the Law that some of my classes were free the next year.
So what happened this day, when I was chock-full of caffeine? The teacher mentioned tax fraud.
And shit.
That's the last thing she taught that day.
I didn't even raise my hand, I just started talking, as if the entire lecture was just a group conversation I was taking part in, and mentioned the Panama Papers. Then, I talked about Apple's recent thigamagig with Ireland, and then I just start talking about Spanish actors that have been caught trying to avoid paying their taxes. Then, I reference classical Spanish literature and explain one of my favorite pet theories -- that part of the Spanish culture has been influenced by the so called Rogue Genre, a bunch of old books that feature thieves and people who use their wits to get the upper hand on the law, and they're seen as the heroes.
Fifteen minutes have passed. I haven't paused to breathe. The teacher is arching an eyebrow at me. Behind me, one of my best friends quietly asks me if I've been doing cocaine.
I say, "Actually, this is not the first time someone thinks I've been doing cocaine!" [3] Somehow this sounds like the perfect opener for a heartfelt conversation about drug use. Shit, I even relate it to the previous bits about corruption -- Spain is Europe's main port for cocaine! Half the fucking thing comes from here!
[3] I had a runny nose, I was trembling for my cold, I am naturally pale (and the lights were white), and as I said, I'm really twitchy. I think I might have been muttering something to myself while staring dumbly into space at some point, but I've got no excuse for that -- I'm just dumb like that. The librarian made an honest mistake, and I don't blame her, but the security guard wasn't that nice, no.
And cocaine means drug money. And drug money means money laundery.
Look, I could honestly go on for ages, here. Thing is, thirty minutes later, I'm doing impressions, because why the fuck not. I was talking politics, I can do a pretty legit impression of a bunch of famous hosts for Spanish TV shows, so I said screw it, #YOLO, etcetera.
This isn't the weird thing. I'm known for going on filibusters, and to be honest it's not the first time that a discussion takes place in a class and completely interrupts the lecture. No, the weird thing is that the teacher was loving it.
Holy shit, she was laughing at every joke and complimenting pretty much every random fucking stupid thing that came out of my mouth. At one point in the conversation, she mentioned Donald Trump, and by God that American pop culture thing I mentioned earlier paid off. They knew nothing about Donald Trump. I knew a lot about Donald Trump.
My impression of him wasn't as good, but by this point, did it even matter?
Forty minutes. I spent forty minutes talking, and I know this as a fact because four different people pointed it out in the next few days. None of them said it as a compliment. Remember: this wasn't forty minutes of a charismatic, intelligent person captivating its audience. This was a half-psychotic, caffeinated, screaming idiot talking with a confidence he shouldn't be feeling at all.
Sure, I guess the crowd did laugh when I made jokes, but I'm a comedian. That is hardly an achievement. What matters here is that, once more, I made an absolute fool of myself.
However.
The teacher thought otherwise.
The class ended when somebody noticed the time and asked the teacher to keep explaining the actual subject, upon which she asked me to stop rambling, because "I would continue later". I thought this was a joke. It wasn't.
Class ends, teacher approaches me. "Hey," she says, "you should give the class yourself at one point!"
I laugh, thinking it's a joke.
She says, "why are you laughing."
The smile quickly leaves my face.
Two things are made clear soon: First: this teacher is, for some reason, really excited about the idea of me making an impression of her in front of the entire class. In her mind, that somehow means that I have to literally teach my peers for two hours and a half. Second: once these people reach tenure, they stop giving half a fuckwhistle.
Remember: this is Tax Law. I've been talking about classical Spanish literature and Donald Trump. I know nothing about Tax Law. If Tax Law was human decency, I would be Hungary. If Tax Law was good musical taste, I'd play the banjo.
Yet, the teacher tells me that no, look, see this chapter in the book? According to schedule, we're going to do this in one month and a half -- and you're going to give the class.
(She starts calling me by my first name, here).
Is this, like, for real? I ask. Yeah, she says. Why wouldn't it? I go wait. okay, but is that -- I mean, this doesn't sound as something you can just do.
She says, well, yeah, of course.
That's why I'm giving you almost two months to prepare the lecture. You can ask me for pointers if you want! Oh, shit, I gotta go to the next class. We'll be in contact!
She goes away.
I feel someone lightly punching my back. It's the cocaine friend from earlier. "Hey, give me back my perfect score," she jokes.
"Hah, hah," I reply. "I think I'm a teacher now."
"What."
I go back home, thinking that maybe this was all a practical joke. By the time I return, the caffeine is going away from my body, and I'm as tired as you can be. That night, I sleep for nine hours (usually I sleep around six, to give you a reference). Next day, I have ninety more minutes of Tax Law.
The teacher greets me for ten minutes, asking me about my life. Do I like cinema? I do? Which kind of movies? Oh, that's interesting. So that's what your sister does for a living? And where were you from, again? Anyway, have you been preparing the lecture?
"Uh, not really. Oh, by the way, today I have to leave early,I have a dentist appointment--"
"Dentist? My, that's horrible! Listen, if you have to do that, I'll just finish the clase early so you don't miss anything. When do you have to leave?"
"...In an hour."
"Then I'll just skip the last thirty minutes of class. I'm sure your classmates won't mind!"
So this is the current situation, people.
Did I make a fool of myself? Christ, yes. If I still had a classmate who didn't think I'm a goddamn idiot, they surely think so now. On the other hand, I'm apparently going to give them a class -- I'm sure that'll do wonders for my popularity -- and I've got this woman wrapped around my finger. I'm gonna get a perfect score in this subject as long as I work on it, and I apparently have control over the scheduling of the classes?
I legitimately have no idea if this means something good happened to me or if it was the opposite. I think the moral of the story is that caffeine is bad for you? But on the other hand, half of the comments on the caffeine blog were among the lines of "to me, that amount of coffee isn't enough to get me off my bed", so maybe it's not the coffee's fault as much as it's mine.
Eh. Life's complicated. And it's my birthday. So fuck it. For once, one of my blogs has a happy ending.
And not only because I'm furiously masturbating.
It was strangely nerve-wrecking, to recount the entire thing. I almost got as nervous as I was when it all happened -- I surely am swearing and breathing heavily as I write this, and I've been sitting down and doing nothing but write for over an hour.
(The rambly nature of the blog is on purpose, mind you. It's a tale of caffeine, so let's make it caffeinated, is what I thought.)
Eh. Probably nothing to worry about. Wish me a happy birthday, yo. Twenty-two years are a lot if you're an idiot like me.
Happy birthday, you really weird, really lucky dude.
Happy Birthday Aragon, as a gift, I will share 2 silly facts about me to help, or at least I hope, brighten your mood
Once upon a time, I tried to shave my face, what I got instead is a pretty horrible cut between my middle left, or is it right?, toes.
Sometimes, I even forget which is left and which is right when I was driving and part of the reason why I sometimes get lost while driving or even while in conversation.
Every blog is a blog that is out of the ordinary with you.
4260017
Way I see it, you clicked that 'Follow' button even though you don't need to do so to read my stuff. So I might as well do something to make it worth.
Or to make you regret your decision. Both work, really.
Good news: You're qualified to be President.
Bad news: You're qualified to be President.
(Well, when you reach 35)
Either that or Talk Radio Host. I think radio pays better.
I think you're life is on cocaine.
Wow. You really don't learn from your mistakes, do you?
In any case, congratulations on enthralling your teacher... possibly literally. Good luck with that whole guest lecture thing. I'd say it was an elaborate form of revenge for monopolizing the class, but her genuine concern makes me question that.
Also, if it's any comfort, I forget to eat sometimes too.
4260031 Bad news: Aragon isn't a natural born American citizen.
Good news: He could probably seduce us enough to think that he is.
It's my birthday too!
And I know what it's like to ramble. Once, I managed to talk about an anime I liked for two hours straight. Granted, it was at the behest of the listener since hearing a conversation is a good way to make oneself remember they are at the wheel and snap out of any drowsiness right away.
Happy birthday, and good luck!
Well.... I thought I was weird and stupid....you...no you have to be pulling our legs here man this has to be a joke right? Maybe a fever dream?
4260066 Let me get my laser printer....
Happy Birthday, you caffeinated genius (whether you think you are one or not).
Good luck teaching!
I'm honestly at a loss for words here. Just... what?
Happy birthday you fucking lunatic. I got you a picture of a tree.
upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/eb/Ash_Tree_-_geograph.org.uk_-_590710.jpg
I hope you like it.
Happy birthday, friendo.
And try to not let all that power get to your head.
I am legitimately dying, gimme some o' dat life juice called coffee, I wanna be this fucking hyper when I go to college or some shit. I can see what you mean about rambling; this shit was long! But he'll was it funny. My stomach feels like it's gonna feckin' explode.
So yeah pass me some of that good shit.
shakes head You have the most fascinating things just happen to you.
I never get why people hate the people who basically filibuster a class, I always loved it. It means I can just stare off into space for the whole lesson without actually missing anything! Though I would probably listen if I was in your class, just because you don't seem even capable of creating any form of dialogue that isn't fascinating, either in the genuine way or the train crash way.
Good luck with teaching though, hopefully it's not too... taxing.
Happy birthday to you~
Look at it as a good window to try someone out. You have two months to give it a shot. Don't commit to it, but do a little research and see how confidant you feel afterwards.
I got contact high just from reading this. Damn you.
And Happy Birthday.
Many happy returns you mad bastard.
I definitely want to know how this lecture goes. :D Happy biddy, too.
Happy birthday dude.
You're a beautiful idiot, and I wish you many more years of caffeinated miss adventures!
Because fucking hell, do I want to read about them.
Feliz cumpleaños big guy, you know, it's still hard no to picture you like a redhead hot chick with green eyes. Go study some law taxes, ;)
This ongoing story about why you should never drink that much coffee is absolutely hilarious to hear.
I'm not even sure you're real at this point- the collateral of your coffee adventure sounds like something Douglas Adams would say.
That was something special.
So you're a birthday today?
dumpaday.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/funny-birthday-parties1.jpg
So... what I'm getting from this is that Tax Law + Enthusiasm (not necessarily for Tax Law) = Romance or Insanity. Yeah... sounds about right. But, seriously, I'd bet nobody has ever shown that much enthusiasm in one of her classes. Of course she's happy about that!
Feliz cumpleaños!
This post must have bee written on anothe caffien high. Was it? It feels like it was.
Buon compleanno, Aragon!
Sì, sono anch'io dell'opinione che nei paesi europei i prof universitari facciano un po' il cazzo che vogliono.
Mi ricordo di quando ero a Londra da mio babbo, ed ero quasi riuscito ad entrare in un dottorato, così, dal nulla, senza sapere niente.
Era un dottorato in archeologia. Io ho una laurea in chimica. Wat.
I think this is the most Aragon that Aragon has ever Aragon'd.
Feliz cumpleaños. I really have todo ask where the f
are you from?. I mean by the lectures you have just mentioned you sound like a law student and those generaly don't learn tax law except in Spain and all his runty children for some bloody reason
Never die, Aragon. Never die.
Happy birthday!
Congratulations on surviving another rotation around the sun.
Sounds like your teacher plan should be to drink that much caffeine and then try to speed-read a book on tax law right before you speak with the class.
Shine on, you crazy diamond.
4260156 i'm trying to remember which author here uses trees for cover art of every story of theirs.
Well... if I were to label you. (Which is asinine of me anyway). I'd probably think of you as The Merc With the Mouth. One because you don't shut up. (Which is a good thing actually because that just makes your stories all that more entertaining). Two. You ramble on and on and on. And three... you absolutely have the best jokes, best sense of humor, and way with words that make me wet-- I mean make me laugh like there's no tomorrow.
(God that got really weird).
Sir Pratchett has defined a term for people who under produce natural alcohol, and are stuck in a state of "knurd" before they get a few drinks in them.
For you, you are a person who naturally produce caffeine. If I come up with a catchy name for that I would, but I'm crap.
4260789
"First subject of the day: Watch me chug 6 cups of black coffee. Second, watch me twiiiiiitch LET'S START TALKING CHILDREN"