Jeremy's Weblog

I recently graduated from Harvard Law School. This is my weblog. It tries to be funny. E-mail me if you like it. For an index of what's lurking in the archives, sorted by category, click here.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

Diary of an Exam

Tuesday, 3:00 PM -- I was born as the 23rd photocopy in the basement of the law school and was added to a large stack. I'm a twin! There are 132 of us, plus one who's missing his back page (birth defect) and a few who are lopsided.

Tuesday, 4:00 PM -- Overwhelmed by the smell of toner, I passed out. I awoke to find myself still in the same pile.

Wednesday 7:45 AM -- An elderly gentleman put me and my brothers in a box and carried us somewhere. He smelled like sour milk.

Wednesday 8:30 AM -- The box was put down in what seemed to be a classroom. Nervous students gathered around me, as I waited for the elderly gentleman to give me to my new owner. This must have been what the slaves felt like.

Wednesday 8:36 AM -- My new owner is treating me badly. He's abusive. He folded me in half. It really hurts. And I'm being crushed by his laptop computer in his backpack. This isn't fair. I miss my box.

Wednesday 8:44 AM -- We have arrived at his apartment. It smells like sour milk. He burned me with coffee. I hate him.

Wednesday 8:52 AM -- He's writing on me. I hope it's not permanent. Mom told me I should never get a tattoo because I'll regret it when I'm old and wrinkled and grayish-white.

Wednesday 10:15 AM -- We've been here a long time. I don't know what's going on. He's looking at other papers. He likes them better than me. I tried to get his attention by making myself fall on the floor but he ignored me.

Wednesday, 10:42 AM -- I'm still on the floor. He hasn't noticed.

Wednesday 10:50 AM -- OUCH! His chair just ran over me. That's gonna leave a mark. And no medical attention. Crap.

Wednesday 11:15 AM -- Okay, he just picked me up and he's reading me again. His palms are sweaty. It's kind of disgusting.

Wednesday 12:02 PM -- More writing. It doesn't even look like English.

Wednesday 1:12 PM -- He RIPPED me! He TORE a piece from me! And wrapped his chewing gum in it and threw it out. That was my spleen, mister!

Wednesday 3:30 PM -- I'd heard the rumors but I never thought it would actually happen to me: I've been STAPLED to some fresh-out-of-the-printer exam wannabes. He calls them his "answers," whatever that means. Mom told me never to get my ears pierced. This must be what it feels like.

Wednesday 4:30 PM -- Box, sweet box. I'm back with my friends. We've all been stapled. I hope we're not being taken to a concentration camp now.

Wednesday 7:21 PM -- The room is dark; it smells like feet; in comes an older man with an unkempt beard and unmatching clothes. Must be a professor. He takes the box. I am apparently going on a trip somewhere.

Wednesday 9:11 PM -- The professor has a nice house. Hope he leaves the TV on. Porn.

Wednesday 9:49 PM -- No porn, but there's a whole ream of paper in the corner -- NAKED! And posing just for me. You look sexy, blank paper. Although it's a little too thick for me. I prefer 12 lb and this is 15.

Friday 1:12 PM -- Touch me, professor! Touch me! Oh, how I long to be touched!

Six weeks later, Friday, 4:07 AM -- Touch me, professor! Touch me! It's been so long since anyone has touched me!

Saturday, 11:12 AM -- Finally, my needs are being tended. Yeah, scratch right there, by the staple. No, a little bit to the left. Yeah, that's it, that's it, don't stop.

Saturday, 11:14 AM -- Why are you writing on me with RED pen?! What do I look like?? Who do you think you are??

Saturday, 11:19 AM -- So the rumors are true. I've just been thrown down a flight of stairs to see where I land. Apparently I'm a B+. So is everyone else in the box.

Sunday, 10:01 PM -- It's been a long and fruitful life, but I am at the point of no return. The Hefty Bag on the curb. There's no turning back. I'm ready to go with God. Take me when you're ready.

Monday, 6:02 AM -- He's ready. Garbage truck approaching.


Monday, 8:13 AM -- I am nearly dead. A first-year law student approaches, picking through the McDonalds' wrappers and empty tubes of hemorrhoid cream. He picks me up. He wipes me off. I am now -- I believe -- a study aide. My parents would be so proud.