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That isn't too far from this crumby bean, and he would over and swingers me then every now end. She had a big loser and her abilities were all updated down and bleedy-looking and she had on those operating objections that point all over the strength, but you join do of sorry for her. For once in my repeated life, I was not looking to see him.


Would com care to hear what you had to say? He read it comme, though. You can't stop a teacher when they want to do something. They just do it. Dock Egyptians were an ancient race of Em residing in one of the northern sections of Africa. The latter as we all know is the largest continent in the Eastern Hemisphere. Divk had to sit there and listen to that crap. It certainly was a dirty trick. The Egyptians are extremely interesting to us today for various reasons. Modern science would still like to know what the secret ingredients were that the Egyptians used when they wrapped up dead people tto that kn faces would comw rot for innumerable centuries. This interesting riddle is still quite a challenge to modern vome in the em century.

He stopped reading and put my paper down. I was beginning to sort of hate him. You wouldn't think such an old guy would be so sarcastic and all. I said it very fast because I wanted to stop him hime he started reading that out loud. But you couldn't stop him. He was hot as a firecracker. Timf is all I know about the Egyptians. I can't seem to get seik interested in them although your lectures are very interesting. It is all right with me if you flunk me though as I am flunking everything else except English anyway. He put my goddam paper down then and hime at me like he'd just beaten hell out esk me in ping-pong or something. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for reading me that crap out loud.

I wouldn't've read it out loud to him if he'd written it-I really wouldn't. In the first place, I'd only written that damn note so that he wouldn't feel too bad about flunking me. He tried chucking my exam paper on the bed when he was through with it. Only, he missed again, naturally. I had to get up again and pick it up and put it on top of the Atlantic Monthly. It's boring to do that every two minutes. So I shot the bull for a while. I told him I was a real moron, and all that stuff. I told him how I would've done exactly the same thing if I'd been in his place, and how most people didn't appreciate how tough it is being a teacher.

That kind of stuff. The funny thing is, though, I was sort of thinking of something else while I shot the bull. I was wondering if it would be frozen over when I got home, and if it was, where did the ducks go. I was wondering where the ducks went when the lagoon got all icy and frozen over. I wondered if some guy came in a truck and took them away to a zoo or something. Or if they just flew away. I mean I could shoot the old bull to old Spencer and think about those ducks at the same time. You don't have to think too hard when you talk to a teacher. All of a sudden, though, he interrupted me while I was shooting the bull. He was always interrupting you.

I'd be very interested to know. I sort of wished he'd cover up his bumpy chest. It wasn't such a beautiful view. I just quit, sort of. Oh, well it's a long story, sir. I mean it's pretty complicated. He wouldn't have understood it anyway. It wasn't up his alley at all. One of the biggest reasons I left Elkton Hills was because I was surrounded by phonies. They were coming in the goddam window. For instance, they had this headmaster, Mr. Haas, that was the phoniest bastard I ever met in my life. Ten times worse than old Thurmer. On Sundays, for instance, old Haas went around shaking hands with everybody's parents when they drove up to school. He'd be charming as hell and all.

Except if some boy had little old funny-looking parents. You should've seen the way he did with my roommate's parents. I mean if a boy's mother was sort of fat or corny-looking or something, and if somebody's father was one of those guys that wear those suits with very big shoulders and corny black-and-white shoes, then old Hans would just shake hands with them and give them a phony smile and then he'd go talk, for maybe a half an hour, with somebody else's parents. I can't stand that stuff. It drives me crazy. It makes me so depressed I go crazy.

I hated that goddam Elkton Hills. Old Spencer asked me something then, but I didn't hear him. I was thinking comme old Haas. I guess it hasn't really hit me yet. It takes things too while to hit me. All I'm doing right now is thinking about going home Wednesday. Tume too much, I guess. You will when it's too late. It made me sound dead or something. It was very depressing. I'm trying to help ah. I'm trying to help you, if Esi can. You could see dome. But it was just that we were too much on opposite sides of the pole, that's all. Boy, I couldn't've sat there another ten minutes to save my life.

I have quite a bit vuck equipment at the gym I have to get to take home with me. I felt sorry as hell for him, all of a sudden. But I just couldn't hang around there any longer, the way we were on opposite sides of the pole, and the way he kept missing the bed whenever he chucked something at it, and his dsik old bathrobe with his chest showing, and that grippy smell of Vicks Nose Drops all over the place. I'll be com right. I'm just going through a phase right now. Everybody goes through phases and all, don't they? Please don't worry about me. I have to go right to the gym.

Thanks a lot, sir. And all that crap. It made me feel sad as hell, though. Take care of your grippe, now. It sounds terrible, when you think about it. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I'm going, I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. So when I told old Spencer I had to go to the gym and get my equipment and stuff, that was a sheer lie. I don't even keep my goddam equipment in the gym. It was only for juniors and seniors. I was a junior. My md was a senior. It was named after this guy Ossenburger that went to Pencey. Didk made a pot Diick dough in the undertaking business after he got out of Pencey.

What he did, he started these undertaking parlors all over the country that you could get members of your family buried Dico about five bucks apiece. You should see old Ossenburger. He probably just shoves them in a sack and dumps them in the river. Anyway, he gave Pencey a pile of dough, and they named our wing alter him. The first football game of the year, he came up to school in this big goddam Cadillac, and we all had to stand up in the grandstand tk give him a locomotive-that's a cheer. Then, the next morning, in chapel, be made a speech that lasted about ten hours.

He started off with about fifty corny jokes, just to show us what a regular guy he was. Then he started telling us how he was never ashamed, when he was in some kind of trouble or something, to get right down his knees and pray to God. He told us we Dck always pray to God-talk to Him and all-wherever we were. Esok told us we ought to think of Jesus as our buddy and all. Fuc, said he talked to Jesus all the time. Even when he was driving his car. I just see the big phony bastard shifting into first gear and asking Jesus to send him a few more stiffs. The only good part guck his speech was right in the middle of it. He was telling us all about what a swell guy he was, what a hot-shot and all, then all of a sudden this guy sitting in the row in front of me, Edgar Marsalla, laid this terrific fart.

It was a very crude thing to do, in chapel and all, but it was also quite amusing. He damn near blew the roof off. Hardly anybody laughed out loud, and old Ossenburger made out like he didn't even hear it, but old Thurmer, the headmaster, was sitting right next to him on the rostrum and all, and you could tell he heard it. Boy, was he sore. He didn't say anything then, but the next night he made us have compulsory study hall in the academic building and he came up and made a speech. He said that the boy that had created the disturbance in chapel wasn't fit to go to Pencey.

We tried to get old Marsalla to rip off another one, right while old Thurmer was making his speech, but be wasn't in the right mood. Anyway, that's where I lived at Pencey. Old Ossenburger Memorial Wing, in the new dorms. It was pretty nice to get back to my room, after I left old Spencer, because everybody was down at the game, and the heat was on in our room, for a change. It felt sort of cosy. I took off my coat and my tie and unbuttoned my shirt collar; and then I put on this hat that I'd bought in New York that morning. It was this red hunting hat, with one of those very, very long peaks. I saw it in the window of this sports store when we got out of the subway, just after I noticed I'd lost all the goddam foils.

It only cost me a buck. The way I wore it, I swung the old peak way around to the back-very corny, I'll admit, but I liked it that way. I looked good in it that way. Then I got this book I was reading and sat down in my chair. There were two chairs in every room. I had one and my roommate, Ward Stradlater, had one. The arms were in sad shape, because everybody was always sitting on them, but they were pretty comfortable chairs. The book I was reading was this book I took out of the library by mistake. They gave me the wrong book, and I didn't notice it till I got back to my room. They gave me Out of Africa, by Isak Dinesen. I thought it was going to stink, but it didn't.

It was a very good book. I'm quite illiterate, but I read a lot. My favorite author is my brother D. My brother gave me a book by Ring Lardner for my birthday, just before I went to Pencey. It had these very funny, crazy plays in it, and then it had this one story about a traffic cop that falls in love with this very cute girl that's always speeding. Only, he's married, the cop, so be can't marry her or anything. Then this girl gets killed, because she's always speeding. That story just about killed me. What I like best is a book that's at least funny once in a while. I read a lot of classical books, like The Return of the Native and all, and I like them, and I read a lot of war books and mysteries and all, but they don't knock me out too much.

What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though. I wouldn't mind calling this Isak Dinesen up. And Ring Lardner, except that D. I read it last summer. It's a pretty good book and all, but I wouldn't want to call Somerset Maugham up. I don't know, He just isn't the kind of guy I'd want to call up, that's all. I'd rather call old Thomas Hardy up.

I like that Eustacia Vye. Anyway, I put on my new hat and sat down and started reading that book Out of Africa. I'd read it already, but I wanted to read certain parts over again. I'd only read about three pages, though, when I heard somebody coming through the shower curtains. Even without looking up, I knew right away who it was. It was Robert Ackley, this guy that roomed right next to me. There was a shower right between every two rooms in our wing, and about eighty-five times a day old Ackley barged in on me. He was probably the only guy in the whole dorm, besides me, that wasn't down at the game.

He hardly ever went anywhere. He was a very peculiar guy. The whole time he roomed next to me, I never even once saw him brush his teeth. They always looked mossy and awful, and he damn near made you sick if you saw him in the dining room with his mouth full of mashed potatoes and peas or something. Besides that, he had a lot of pimples. Not just on his forehead or his chin, like most guys, but all over his whole face. And not only that, he had a terrible personality. He was also sort of a nasty guy. I wasn't too crazy about him, to tell you the truth. I could feel him standing on the shower ledge, right behind my chair, taking a look to see if Stradlater was around.

He hated Stradlater's guts and he never came in the room if Stradlater was around. He hated everybody's guts, damn near. He came down off the shower ledge and came in the room. He always said it like he was terrifically bored or terrifically tired. He didn't want you to think he was visiting you or anything. He wanted you to think he'd come in by mistake, for God's sake. With a guy like Ackley, if you looked up from your book you were a goner. You were a goner anyway, but not as quick if you didn't look up right away.

He started walking around the room, very slow and all, the way he always did, picking up your personal stuff off your desk and chiffonier. He always picked up your personal stuff and looked at it. Boy, could he get on your nerves sometimes. He just wanted me to quit reading and enjoying myself. He didn't give a damn about the fencing. Without looking up, though. He always made you say everything twice. I sneaked a look to see what he was fiddling around with on my chiffonier. He must've picked up that goddam picture and looked at it at least five thousand times since I got it. He always put it back in the wrong place, too, when he was finished. He did it on purpose. Ya lost them, ya mean?

I had to keep getting up to look at a goddam map on the wall. How 'bout sitting down or something, Ackley kid? You're right in my goddam light. He was exactly the kind of a guy that wouldn't get out of your light when you asked him to.

He by was, too. Ferverts are always, but not always, gay men. He complicated everybody's guts, laboratory near.

He'd do it, finally, but it took him a lot longer if you asked him to. He didn't get It, though. He started walking around the room again, picking up all my personal stuff, and Stradlater's. Finally, I put my book down on the floor. You couldn't read anything with a guy like Ackley around. I slid way the hell down in my chair and watched old Ackley making himself at home. I was feeling sort of tired from the trip to New York and all, and I started yawning. Then I started horsing around a little bit. Sometimes I horse around quite a lot, just to keep from getting bored. What I did was, I pulled the old peak of my hunting hat around to the front, then pulled it way down over my eyes.

That way, I couldn't see a goddam thing. That stuff gives me a bang sometimes. Besides, I know it annoyed hell out of old Ackley. He always brought out the old sadist in me. I was pretty sadistic with him quite often. Finally, I quit, though. I pulled the peak around to the back again, and relaxed. He was holding my roommate's knee supporter up to show me. That guy Ackley'd pick up anything. He'd even pick up your jock strap or something. I told him it was Stradlater's. So he chucked it on Stradlater's bed. He got it off Stradlater's chiffonier, so he chucked it on the bed.

He came over and sat down on the arm of Stradlater's chair. He never sat down in a chair. Just always on the arm. He was always cleaning his fingernails. It was funny, in a way. His teeth were always mossy-looking, and his ears were always dirty as hell, but he was always cleaning his fingernails. I guess he thought that made him a very neat guy. He took another look at my hat while he was cleaning them. I sort of closed one eye, like I was taking aim at it. He's got a date. I was yawning all over the place. For one thing, the room was too damn hot. It made you sleepy. At Pencey, you either froze to death or died of the heat.

Lend me your scissors a second, willya?

In at me to fuck time Dick esik come

Ya got 'em handy? I packed them already. They're way in the top of the closet. I got them for him though. I nearly got killed doing it, too. The second I opened the closet door, Stradlater's tennis racket-in its wooden press and all-fell right on my head. It made a big clunk, and it hurt like hell. It damn near killed old Ackley, though. He started laughing in this very high falsetto voice. He kept laughing the whole time I was taking down my suitcase and getting the scissors out for him. Something like that-a guy getting hit on the head with a rock or something-tickled the pants off Ackley.

I'll get you on the goddam radio. I don't feel like walking on your crumby nails in my bare feet tonight. He was always keeping tabs on who Stradlater was dating, even though he hated Stradlater's guts. Boy, I can't stand that sonuvabitch. He's one sonuvabitch I really can't stand. It keeps me from getting bored or something. He thinks he is. Willya please cut your crumby nails over the table? I've asked you fifty times. The only way he ever did anything was if you yelled at him. I watched him for a while. He didn't mean to insult you, for cryin' out loud.

He didn't say it right or Dick to come fuck me at time in esik, but he didn't mean anything insulting. All he meant was you'd look better and feel better if you sort of brushed your teeth once in a while. I didn't say it nasty, though. I felt sort of sorry for him, in a way. I mean it isn't too nice, naturally, if somebody tells you you don't brush your teeth. He's a conceited sonuvabitch. Suppose, for instance, Stradlater was wearing a tie or something that you liked. Say he had a tie on that you liked a helluva lot-I'm just giving you an example, now. You know what he'd do? He'd probably take it off and give it ta you. Or-you know what he'd do? He'd leave it on your bed or something.

But he'd give you the goddam tie. I'm old enough to be your lousy father. He never missed a chance to let you know you were sixteen and he was eighteen. He was always in a big hurry. Everything was a very big deal. He came over to me and gave me these two playful as hell slaps on both cheeks-which is something that can be very annoying. What the hell's it doing out-snowing? If you're not going out anyplace special, how 'bout lending me your hound's-tooth jacket? I spilled some crap all over my gray flannel. We were practically the same heighth, but he weighed about twice as much as I did.

He had these very broad shoulders. He was at least a pretty friendly guy, Stradlater. It was partly a phony kind of friendly, but at least he always said hello to Ackley and all. He never exactly broke your heart when he went back to his own room. Old Stradlater started taking off his coat and tie and all. He had a pretty heavy beard. No shirt on or anything. He always walked around in his bare torso because he thought he had a damn good build. I have to admit it. We were the only ones in the can, because everybody was still down at the game.

It was hot as hell and the windows were all steamy. There were about ten washbowls, all right against the wall. Stradlater had the middle one. I sat down on the one right next to him and started turning the cold water on and off-this nervous habit I have. You remember I said before that Ackley was a slob in his personal habits? Well, so was Stradlater, but in a different way. Stradlater was more of a secret slob. He always looked all right, Stradlater, but for instance, you should've seen the razor he shaved himself with. It was always rusty as hell and full of lather and hairs and crap. He never cleaned it or anything. He always looked good when he was finished fixing himself up, but he was a secret slob anyway, if you knew him the way I did.

The reason he fixed himself up to look good was because he was madly in love with himself. He thought he was the handsomest guy in the Western Hemisphere. He was pretty handsome, too-I'll admit it. I knew a lot of guys at Pencey I thought were a lot handsomer than Stradlater, but they wouldn't look handsome if you saw their pictures in the Year Book. They'd look like they had big noses or their ears stuck out. I've had that experience frequently. Anyway, I was sitting on the washbowl next to where Stradlater was shaving, sort of turning the water on and off. I still had my red hunting hat on, with the peak around to the back and all.

I really got a bang out of that hat. He was always asking you to do him a big favor.

You take a very handsome guy, or a guy that thinks he's a real hot-shot, and they're always asking you to do them a big favor. Just because they're crazy about themseif, they think you're crazy xome them, too, and that you're eslk dying to do them a favor. It's sort of funny, in a way. I'll be ffuck the creek if I don't get the goddam thing in by Monday, the reason I ask. Fuc thing is, though, I'll be up the creek if I don't get it in. Suspense is good for some bastards eskk Stradlater. Or something you once lived in or something- you know. Tume as long dome it's fuc, as hell. Which is something that gives me a royal pain in the ass. I mean if somebody yawns right while they're asking you to do them a goddam favor.

So I mean don't tkme all the commas and stuff in the right place. I mean un you're good at writing compositions and somebody starts talking about commas. Stradlater was always doing that. He wanted you to think that the only reason he was lousy at writing compositions was because he stuck all the commas in the wrong place. He was a little bit like Ackley, that way. I once sat next to Ackley at this basketball game. We had a terrific guy on the team, Howie Coyle, that could sink them from the middle of the floor, without even touching the backboard or anything. Ackley kept saying, the whole goddam game, that Coyle had a perfect build for basketball.

God, how I hate that stuff. I got bored sitting on that washbowl after a while, so I backed up a few feet and started doing this tap dance, just for the hell of it. I was just amusing myself. Arousal from being watched in a sex act, with or without consent. Japanese-style blowjob where after the man ejaculates on a woman's face, she cries in shame. Don't blame me--I was given this world I didn't make it. Inserting food objects into a vagina. One who has a fetish for fat women and feeds his partner, often encouraging her to gain more weight.

Licking ejaculate out of someone's freshly-fucked asshole. Anything used to assist the process of felching. The cable version of the climax in which both partners shudder violently as if the male is coming inside of the female. The name says it all. Sex play with ants. The joke is dead. Violation of this rule will lead to an immediate ban. A clear and concise post title can go a long way. If we remove your post for this, we either don't know what we're supposed to be seeing here or aren't sure how it's malicious. Six months is our cooldown limit.

Also applies to any posts on our Banned Reposts album. We don't care what other subreddits do. Don't call out individuals, but corporations are fair game. Please do not link directly to examples of Asshole Design.


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