Spring has finally sprung, and with it come the sweet flowers that bloom their pungent odors that stop up my nose and make me sneeze for hours at a time while loved ones stare aghast in horror. Those beautiful, pastel colors that fill a field just pull at your heart and make you yearn to run and play in the warm sun. That is, unless they’re the pastels of women in prairie dresses that are on my television yet again, reading their cult’s talking points and telling me that they are normal. Anyone who thinks dressing up in an 18^th-century dress and wearing an updo is normal is either living in her own little world or living on her own little ranch in Texas…

Reading the news from many different sources daily, as I do to avoid the tedium that is geotechnical engineering class, I stumbled upon an article about pharmaceutical drugs found in today’s tap water.  Water is now not only laced with lead from old pipes, but also with designer drugs that somehow have leached into my precious water supply.

Now that another Black History Month is behind us, I would like to talk about something that is utterly destroying the fabric of African-American society in this nation. Something that, if left unchecked, will spark the downfall and self-implosion of countless black communities around the South.  It’s the “N” word.  I just pray that I am not too late to save your family from the ravages of the “N” word.

As I complete my fourth year here at LSU, looking towards one more class-ridden year of forced learning, I start to contemplate my marketability in the post-college era of my life.  Looking deep into the inner chasm of my soul to find the talents and abilities that I possess and how they can be used to either better humanity or to exchange services for a paycheck, so I can continue my reign of terror upon my roommate, my girlfriend, and that lady that lives below me with the horse of a dog that whines all day, I can find only one place on this planet that would pay for the stuff that leaks out of my head and mouth each day – 156 Thomas Boyd Hall, here at LSU: Office of the Chancellor.

It’s the New Year, and everyone has resolutions.  I swear that I will lose the weight I gained this fall, quit throwing pennies at homeless people, and try to control my smart-ass mouth when I talk to random people in the street.  But since we all break our resolutions, I made one revolution: to get more involved in the mind-numbing crap that is going on in my own hometown.  So this year starts off with the battle over the casinos and the Rouzan project.  At least it is more productive than ghostwriting Britney Spears’ mother’s new book, just without all that fiction.

In case you are living in a box under an overpass, it’s now the holiday shopping season.  This means that all the Christmas decorations that went up back in August now fit the season.  But no matter what the weather is outside, the temperature of the hearts of the workers in the stores is ice cold.  It’s a real shame that these people continue to earn a paycheck for such Grinch attitudes.  Honestly, I really don’t owe them anything extra for their lack of service.  Besides, not everyone gets to be president when they grow up – some have to serve me fries and Big Macs^®.

J.K. Rowling shocked the world last month with the revelation that Dumbledore from the Harry Potter series was gay.  Gay?!  Not Dumbledore, the wise father figure, complete with flowing robes and long white hair.  Not the greatest wizard in a completely fictional world.  Anyone but him!!

I don’t know about you, but I am thanking the football god that he is talking to the gods of weather to keep my LSU football season in one piece this year.  I forgot, however, to talk to the whiny political-correctness people and their little rag that they put out at school.

It seems that there are those at school who think the vulgarities that I, among thousands of other rabid fans, uttered upon the ears of the unbelieving visiting team were uncalled for and vile.  Thank goodness, those champions of mouth-breathing won’t come within ten miles of the temple of Saturday worship and ruin my fun each week.

Look, people, it’s really simple: I left for a few months, leaving civilization for a little while, all in the hands of you nice folks. I come back, and look at the mess y’all made. I can’t keep cleaning up after you people. It’s bad enough I had to teach the bears to actually crap in the woods, not on the trail, and had to educate mice not to nest in my hair, but rather, to gather me nuts and berries and ice-cold soft drinks. So I had to catch up with all of the events of the summer in one week in order to realize the size and scope of the screwups that you people have made. I apologize if I forgot your mistakes, but here we go.

Here I am again in civilization, or what can be called such, banging out another report of my findings in Yankeeland. (I know Virginia is still considered “South,” but north of I-10 is my cutoff.)  As I write this, I am in the student union of Virginia Tech, mooching their computers, having hiked 622 miles since May. When you read this in August, I will be in the ShenandoahNational Park, Mile 851, and will have done 1000 miles in Harpers Ferryby the middle of the month.