I love to meet interesting people. Unique individuals are so rare today that, when you find one, you should hold on to it and treat it like the rare gifts that it is. I’ve been blessed with being close friends with several individuals that I would say are truley special. Without them my life would be quite dull, since I’m such a bland character myself.

But I despise people that fake their individuality exponentially more than I cherish those that are truley special. Two examples of such a person come to mind. If they offend you, well… tough titty. You should probably grow a personality and check back later.

I had a conversation not so long ago with an acquaintance of mine that brought me dangerously close to driving to her house, laughing at her for at least five minutes after she’s begun sobbing in a corner, then backing over her intentionally as I left. This acquaintance of mine “thanked Bob” for curing her cold. When I asked who Bob was, I got a long winded explaination about how she’s agnostic and can’t say god even though she hasn’t written out the possibility of ones existance.

Now lets put the above conversation in perspective: this acquaintance offers me copius amounts of information regarding her religious beliefs to explain that Sudafed cured her cold. She invokes the name of some maybe omnipotent, maybe not Bob character because she’d be breaking the nonexistant rules of her nonexistant religion by referring to a higher power by a pre-established name. So why call it anything at all? In fact, why the fuck bother telling me that you’re agnostic when I asked if you’re cold went away?

Its all so confusing to me. The funny part is, of course, that I guess I’m agnostic too. Only I call it something different: not knowing and not caring about spiritual matters. See, wasn’t that simpler? I don’t know, I don’t care, and my spiritual complacance has absolutely no bearing on the snot pouring like a faucet out of my nose.

There was no reason for this person to explain these things to me, except to perpetuate her own sense of individuality. I’m going to print out labels for people just like her. “Completely mundane individual.” “I have nothing unique to offer the world.” That way when I see them I can just read the sticker on their forehead and move along, lest I be forced to learn all about their part Cherokee, part Nigerian, all Asshole heritage next time I ask a simple fucking question about the weather.

Example number two appeared to me just days ago, when I arrived at my Introduction to Philosophy class for the first time. I love philosophy courses if only for the fact that they remind me of a classroom full of Salvation Army manequinns. Today in class some freshman with long greasy hair and the apparel of only the most out-of-style homeless person decided to open his tofu hole and speak. One would hope that this guy would have a genious mind to counteract his obvious inability to function in the world and his patchouli stench, but one would be sadly disappointed. This fellow was slightly less intelligent than the three frat guys that accidently signed up for the course thinking that phys. ed. and philosophy were similar. In fact he might as well trade in his patchouli for Axe and his ragamuffin duds for a popped collar Polo right now. This prick in pauper’s clothing was quite obviously trying to push some vision of himself as a starving artist, yet I’d be willing to bet his parents are filthy rich. When I was a kid I wore clothing with holes because I had to, not because I had some false image of myself to pimp out.

But look at me rambling. I’ve already said too much! I better stop before someone points out just how generic I am, and that I use my website to mock others in an effort to ignore my own lack of originality. My point is this, kids: none of us are all that unique. Not me, not you, not any one of the thousands of pretentious liberal arts snobs accross your college campus. So don’t try to convince me that you’re something special. You’re not.