I'm Not That
Dude, Dude


 

by Aston Brie
Post Kent Reader

I don't know what's wrong with my R.A.
He keeps accusing me of smoking pot in my dorm room.
It's like I keep telling him:
"I'm not that dude, Dude."
He doesn't listen.
He's too busy seeing the world through the blinders of stereotypes.
So what if I have a Bob Marley poster on my wall?
THAT makes me a "pothead?"
And since when is it wrong to hang ty-died tapestries in your room?
They really brighten the place up, and act as great privacy dividers.
And no- that rolled-up towel by the door isn't there to keep smoke out of the hall.
It's to keep the smell out when Raj nextdoor adds curry to his ramen noodles before nuking them.
He stinks up the whole floor when he does that.
Why don't you go bother him?
Oh, because I dared to wear a Greatful Dead T-shirt and you don't think white guys should have dreds.
So, are you being racist or just overly judgemental about music?
Yes, I know the window was screwed shut for a reason- but the thermostat in here is retarded, and I had to cool off.
That's all.
Nothing nefarious is going on.
Yes, that's my plastic bottle filled with drier sheets.
Sometimes my asthma reqires me to breathed only "April fresh" air.
Look, it's obvious you don't believe me.
I think you need to let go of your assumptions and hang out with me for a while.
Here, have a brownie.
It'll all make sense soon.

Is P.F. Jones?
 

 

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