Apparently here at UCLA Law they stick their used chewing gum to the top of the table instead of the bottom. Unfortunately I only noticed the gum at the library table I've chosen after I set up my laptop, and I'll be damned if I'm going to unhook the power cable, ethernet cable, and security cable and rig them all up again somewheres else just to avoid someone else's saliva-covered rubber. I 'spect it'll just inspire me to finish my briefs that much more quickly.
We're in the exposition phase here at I Fought the Law, so these first few strips will serve to establish characters. Or at least those worth remembering. Last week we saw Kam in all his inanity and Ellen in all her disdain. This week, meet Ted. Check in next week for some smooth Spanish flava.
I had planned to give a shout-out to my Squelch roots in the form of a "Top Ten Things Heard at UCLA Law Orientation," but I could only think of two: "I really wanted to go to Boalt" and "Hi, I'm [forgettable single-syllable name]." The names Mike, Dave, Scott, Todd, Jeff, John, Tom, Matt, and Mark are distributed amongst my male classmates in an order which I can't be expected to remember after only one week (nor do I expect anyone to remember my name at this point). But as devoted frienships, spiteful rivalries and lukewarm acquiantanceships develop over the next few months I'll probably have a better time with things.
I'll wrap this up with a story about a cat. The meanest cat in the history of the Universe lives in the unit behind me. The weekend I moved in I noticed this grey and white cat hanging around in the grass behind my building, apparently the charge of one of my rearward neighbors, but I resisted my usual inclination to go up and try to pet it. Enter my girlfriend, who likes cats even more than I do, and insists that the two of us head back and introduce ourselves. Fine. So she stoops down and holds her hand out, palm-side-up, like you're supposed to, and the cat responds with the most sinister, serpentine hiss that ever escaped the mouth of a feline. What made it so disturbing was the fact that apart from its face the cat was completely unperturbed by our presence. It remained curled up, its ears remained forward, and the fur was thoroughly off-end. Its hissing mouth and quivering tongue were all the acknowledgment it felt the need to afford us.
Taking the hint, we went about our business. The following week I was heading back with a load of laundry, and Evil Cat was drinking from a puddle. When it saw me, it walked through the puddle, lacking the concern for getting its paws wet that any mortal cat would have expressed. That's when I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was in the presence of Evil.
Cut to today. I've been living in the shadow of Evil Cat for three weeks now, and it's been driving me crazy. How does a cat lose all faith in goodness and purity like that? What must its parents have been like? Then, it hits me. Even mean cats run away from people, so why doesn't this one? The answer? It's OLD! Hissing is its ONLY extant means of protection! Its geriatric feline limbs won't allow it to run away from danger, so it must forestall any threat by establishing who's boss right from the start! This also explains why its fur is rumpled, since it's probably no longer limber enough even to groom itself. Poor thing.
After realizing this, I decided to give Evil Cat another chance. I would approach it again, and this time it would know that I understood its problem. We would be friends. So I approached the Evil One, genuflected appropriately, and held my hand out. It looked at me with suspicion, but no hiss. So far so good. I inched my hand a little closer. Evil Cat frowned and pulled its head back ever so slightly, but still no hiss. I could almost feel its wheezing breath at this point. Gathering all my courage I nudged my proffered fingers just a little further, and then the bastard scratched me. Then it hissed.
Bite me twice, folks. Bite me twice.