Inside Gigi's World

Welp, the professor has gone and lost his mind again. Apparently he’s no longer at war with the chair and the hussy that destroyed their friendship but instead he now hates his goddamn desk. 

The girl that sits next to me in class told me the desk stole the professor’s manuscript for his next big novel, something about aliens, the sport of golf and tequila. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I know I sure as hell haven’t. 

He waltzed into class and threw the desk right over like it was his bitch. That desk never saw it coming, it didn’t even have the chance to defend itself. Now the desk and its contents are lying on the floor, broken and ashamed. His legs ripped out from underneath him, splinters ejaculated all over the carpet. Whoever has to clean this mess up is not going to be happy. 

The poor desk claims he never did it, he never laid eyes on that goddamn manuscript. I heard the desk even called it complete shit. 

A water bottle—an unnecessary victim of this violent crime—lays dented on the floor near the desk leaking tears onto the carpet. Papers rocketed into the air like little pieces of confetti, scattering all around the room. 

The class watches in shock as the professor enters the classroom with a hand-held drill to try to repair the defeated desk. Just like an abusive partner, the professor apologizes, he promises to never lay hands on the desk again. He tries to screw the legs back on to the desk, unsuccessfully I might add. He flips the desk back onto its side from the floor and as he tries to stand it up, the legs buckle and fall off again. The professor said he’s going to have to tell the maintenance man about what happened. He says he’ll take full responsibility, telling the truth is better than lying. 

Well, good luck explaining this one. Like the maintenance man is ever going to believe that the desk stole anything from anyone.