On The Morality Of Selling My Philosophy Textbooks For Weed Money

By Brandon Gudger

What is morality? When are human beings moral? Can one bad act spoil our lot with the Almighty Creator? Man, that would be gay.

My conscience cries out to me in a tiny voice, 'Dude, Brandon, heed these words: All is perverted! All is vanity! Trust not in the material world! Look to the gods for succor!'

Is it truly my conscience, or is the stuff Joel had sent over from Micronesia just some baller shit?

Either way, I'm fresh out of cash, and Shaman Drum says they can't take back this copy of Hume's "A Treatise Of Human Nature'. I told them, Joel tells me that, empirically, they have always been gaywads about their return policy.

What's worse, I was super-stoned on resin during the hours the Student Book Exchange was open and I totally missed out. I couldn't get over there because I forgot where my feet were. At first I thought I had successfully accomplished a Cartesian separation of mind and body. But I didn't, dude.

My broke-assness begs the question: how am I gonna pay for ganj, plus a gift for Joel's MLK Day Bash, if I can't sell off these dumbass philosophy textbooks?

I've had this exchange budgeted out for three months now, but I guess I assumed that I could return these books even if I had unwrapped them, spilled Wild Cherry Pepsi on them, and drawn a bunch of funny-shaped dicks on the pages.

Maybe they'll still accept Freud's 'Interpretation Of Dreams'.

I pace about my room like Foucault's prisoner, waiting for a sign. The people will not make eye contact with me! Stairway To Heaven took out some gayass restraining order against me! Not even Zardoz is a comfort anymore.

That movie is about 45 minutes too long, man.

I long for some sucker freshman to buy this jacked-up version of "Being And Nothingness" for 30 bucks or best offer. I'll tell you what nothingness is. It's how much money I don't have to buy tree with, dude.

Oh, my soul crasheth about, overcome with the beauty of ideality, yet mired in the sorrows of materialism and commodification. I yearn for a response to that fateful question, "How the fuck am I expected to keep the receipts for a book I bought five months ago? I can barely remember what day it is."

Yet God and that douchebag manager at Ulrich's turn a deaf ear to my pleas. What will become of Brandon Gudger, imprisoned in an ivory tower of academia and unable to smoke his brains out? I mean, my brains out. Brains.

Cough.

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