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Where I Will Be In 70 Years

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This semester, I am taking a course at school and it is like a senior seminar where all the seniors in my major meet once a week to prepare for after graduation. How to build a resume, jobs, etc. It suuuuucks. Just a waste of a 90 minutes a week.

Well, this week, we have an assignment where we have to write a 1-2 page (double-spaced) biography staged when we are 70 years old. It started professional, then my fucked mind turned it into a creative work of art. Something I wouldn’t dare turn in for faculty to review.

But, I will share with you what I wrote. Enjoy.



Unipec left the [University] with a Bachelor of Science degree and embarked on his next academic journey: obtaining his PhD. After five years, Unipec completed his defense and left an everlasting mark on their chemistry department. Though they were sad to see such a beloved character go, the department was happy, as Unipec was on to the next stop of his career and he had shed his traits on the rest of their graduate students.
Unipec found himself as a post-doc and soon enough he received an offer to become a tenure-track professor at an esteemed University. Unfortunately, this was not the final stop on his career path, as those short five years flew by and he found himself without tenure. As he looked back at what went wrong, he found that his fatal flaw was being a push-over, causing a lack of production from his research group. He spent the next year unemployed, living in a van down by the river. He did not own a toothbrush. His confidence and libido had vanished like White Goodman.
One day, Unipec was at the beach and walked along the boardwalk. He had not shaven or bathed in months, causing him to smell like a human jizz rag, or Lisa Ann. As he walked down that pebble beachfront, he approached a shop – one that cons tourists into buying overpriced shit – and saw a beautiful shark tooth necklace. With no money on him and the necklace being $10, he had no choice, but to blow a sketchy executive in a random alley. Okay, so that human jizz rag smell thing wasn’t a simile.
Unipec walked out of that shop with that tacky shark tooth necklace; the confidence he boasted at the completion of his PhD had returned. He applied to be a professor at several colleges and he landed the one he wanted the most. Within the first month of work, he found the woman of his dreams. One year later, he had asked this woman to marry him. She said yes. Another year later, she was six months pregnant with a baby boy and he had multiple publications already – he was guaranteed tenure this time around. Then, one month after that, he died of a low T cell count. He had AIDS. Likely, from one of the many men he blew for drug money. His wife gave birth to an AIDS baby.






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