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Is Syracuse’s Grant Auditorium Literally Hell on Earth?

You know how, like, people say that class is hell but they mean it in a, um, what’s the word, facetious way? For me, Brad Thadwick, that’s just not the case, dude. Grant Auditorium is actually HELL. Like it’s that place with all the fire and the freaky looking goblins and the eternal torture. It’s like some Exorcist shit in there.

Am I high? Yeah, obviously. I’m always high. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see what I’ve seen!

Just hear me out.

So I’m walking into the classroom and it’s cold as balls, ya know? Because it’s Syracuse and it’s always cold as balls, and all of the sudden I walk in and I’m sweating balls. (Yes, balls is an appropriate form of measurement, can I finish my story?)

Anyways, it’s so fucking hot in this classroom, it’s like the pits of Hell. Pits? Yeah. I’m sweating like that one time I exercised for five minutes. So everyone is now staring at me, which is kind of weird considering I was only 20 minutes late.

I take off my jacket and I take a hit of my weed pen because there’s no fucking way I can get through this lecture without a little buzz. The whole room is DEAD silent. (God, I emphasized dead because I’m going to reveal that they’re all actually dead. You really know how to ruin a story.)

So, yes, every kid in there is actually a dead person and not to mention I didn’t recognize a single one of them. I’ve been to my Intro to Anthropology class approximately twice, so I would’ve had to recognize someone. They were all pale as shit and they had deep circles under their eyes like that little kid from The Ring. So fucking ugly.

And my professor, man, the professor is the Devil. Literally, he is Satan. He just stood there smiling this creepy smile and written on the board was “Pop Quiz.” Who gives out a pop quiz a month into school? Only Satan could do that.

At this point I’m really freaked out. Now, the kid next to me starts speaking to me except I don’t understand a word that is coming out of his mouth. You know the first sign of possession is speaking a different language, right? So now I’m super freaked out and I book it out of there. I escaped Hell–I’m like the only person to do that. Do you think I should put that on my resume?

 

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