Explosive Journalism - Opinion Columns by Michael GiardinaHilarious articles, funny columns, blatant journo-scolding.
by Michael Giardina
College students remind me a lot of ducks. No, I don't mean "The Mighty Ducks" or anyone from "Duck Tales." I'm talking straight-up, overfed, excessively reproducing mallards: quack, quack.
Some might consider college students to be like rats, wandering around aimlessly through a lab experiment, and some might say college students are more like bears in hibernation. Some might even call us wombats, but that's not fair. Rats are too dumb, bears don't get stoned frequently enough and cuddly wombats are too hard to find on this campus. So, ducks it is.
First off, like college students, ducks are everywhere. It's a real task not to run over one of these little critters on your bike. Why's that? Well, just like college students, ducks refuse to obey any campus street-signs and never use crosswalks.
Next, let's talk sex. There's always one big, muscular, traditionally sexy male mallard sitting on the quad, with five females surrounding him. The thing is, just like college men of this jock-like nature, nothing is going on. The ducks aren't doing the nasty and the male is just sitting there, too dumb to talk. I bet the female ducks are looking cute and hoping that one day they'll be able to change him.
Similarly, if you walk by the bushes nearest the art building, you won't believe the kind of squawking that is going on in that makeshift ducky bedroom. What's going on?
Just like college students, all the artistic, philosophical, emotional and usually liberal males are doing the horizontal tango in the great outdoors, while the muscle builders sit motionless on the quad.
You better believe it takes these sensitive ducks years to perfect their strategy of using their erect wings to toss breadcrumb tidbits into their lovers? mouths. Be jealous.
There's always one lonely female duck sitting on the Arboretum pond. It's perfectly white with perfectly groomed (girl-next-door) wings, and never has another duck nearby. Well, I reckon this duck is just like the sexiest girls at the gym who can't get a date because men are too intimidated to approach them. It's time to go on the offensive, little angel.
How about those obviously mutated ducks with the bright red eyes? Do I even have to go into how these ducks remind me of college students? I'm just surprised they're not tie-dyed. I could easily imagine these red-eyed misfits quacking to each other about their love for Zion, while playing bongo drums on the beaches of Santa Cruz, chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and promoting free love.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting this extended metaphor is novel. Take Mrak Hall, for example. They say this building was named for a Davis chancellor in 1959. That's what the University wants you to think. Don't fall for it! This building was not named after Emil Mrak; instead, it was named by the construction workers who built it.
You see, the workers spent months on this building. Every day, they had to chase away thousands of ducks that kept yelling, 'mrak, mrak, mrak!' Now you know the truth.
But, just like I can't claim that I am nice to every college student, I must admit that I am not kind to every duck. In fact, I find it hilariously enjoyable to walk through the Arboretum at 3 a.m. and see if I can hit a sleeping duck square on the head with a giant spit wad.
What? I'm not perfect. If you miss and hit the water, all the ducks will think that it's food and race for the opportunity to eat your spit. If you're ever having a self-esteem problem, I recommend taking a quick spit trip to the bridge.
I mean, it's not like you ever feel compelled to race another human being in order to eat someone's spit. You should be proud of that.