A Letter from That One Ugly Concrete Building on Campus
I know what you think of me. I hear your little nicknames for me: “The Fortress,” “The Cubes,” “The Bloc,” “Castle Grayskull.” I see the way the tour guides make little jokes and usher away prospective students before anyone can look at me too long. Well, you fuckers don’t know balls about shit.

What? You spend thirty minutes in one art history class and suddenly you think you’re Frank Fucking Gehry? You have no idea what you’re talking about. You couldn’t tell a Gothic building from Bauhaus if you had your head shoved right up its buttresses. Sorry? What was that? Something about me looking boring? Gosh, I guess it’s hard to hear you with your mouth full of Johnny Ive’s minimalist cock. But hey, I don’t take it personally. Because I know this isn’t about me; it’s about you.
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A Letter from That One Ugly Concrete Building on Campus

I know what you think of me. I hear your little nicknames for me: “The Fortress,” “The Cubes,” “The Bloc,” “Castle Grayskull.” I see the way the tour guides make little jokes and usher away prospective students before anyone can look at me too long. Well, you fuckers don’t know balls about shit.

What? You spend thirty minutes in one art history class and suddenly you think you’re Frank Fucking Gehry? You have no idea what you’re talking about. You couldn’t tell a Gothic building from Bauhaus if you had your head shoved right up its buttresses. Sorry? What was that? Something about me looking boring? Gosh, I guess it’s hard to hear you with your mouth full of Johnny Ive’s minimalist cock. But hey, I don’t take it personally. Because I know this isn’t about me; it’s about you.

Continue reading

(Source: College Humor)