Finals week is known within the bowels of every college across the country, and DeVry, as “more brootal” than even the most hymen shattering and sticky of frat initiations. Adderall, rope, and razor blade stocks all shoot sky high (but nowhere near as high as the students) and many freshman are weeded out, opting to instead lie to women about wearing a condom and making their grandmothers weep with shame. By the end of their first finals week, most freshman students will wind up seriously considering transferring to another cheaper, “balls deep'” college (or Liberty University for our Amish students) and wind up on the same exact path of procrastination, sexiling, and neck tattoos. To put a long story short, finals week is not as enjoyable as, say, eating out the anus of a turtle.
“Most of the time I just stare with my mouth open at the book. Like literally just staring at it. Once I stared at the word ‘panties’ for five and a half hours straight. My eyes got all dehydrated and turned into like these little raisins. I don’t even know why ‘panties’ was in my pre law book”, says freshman student Sarah Ballsgobble.
Fortunately for the collective conscious of mankind, some of the (mostly balding and fat) people at college campi (plural of campus, trust me, I went to DeVry) take a sort of perverted, some would say masochistic and “clinically psychotic”, pleasure in dishing out these diarrhea pizzas to the sweatpants enthusiasts who are forced to take and prepare for them.
These people are known as “college professors“, or coloquially as “divorced”, and as stated before, handing out final exams to students is absolute boner fuel for them.
“Sometimes, we all meet up at Popeye’s, slurp up some chicken skin…just the skin…and think up clever ways to cause our students to burn their pants and run away to like, fucking Guam or somewhere else in Africa. We sometimes even install little hidden cameras around the campus, to watch our handiwork unfold. I install mine in the library, showers, and inside the rim of toilets”, says Writing studies professor Seamus O’Stereotype.
Many professors cite “the sexual thrill” and/or “the erotic release” as the reasons for their excitement.
“Just, it’s really indescribable. The steaming wave of sexual energy that starts at my cankles then slithers all the way up into my hole. Both of them. The EROTIC TENSION built up all semester and THE SEXUAL RELEASE that comes with dishing out these cat turd strombolis is orgasmic. I have a golden plated dildo just for the occasion. Well, it was gold,” says philosophy professor Pippy Titstockings.
Suicide hotlines across the nation (and DeVry) are expected to be asbolutely swamped.