Too Much Information, Level: College Professor.

Before I get to the heart of this, I feel like I need to establish some crucial details. First, I’m a freshman in college. Community college, which to be completely honest, isn’t all that bad. It’s not the 13^th grade like so many people say it is and, depending on where you go, it’s much like a “real” college. It is real college. Except you go home every day. Not bad, right? And a hell of a lot cheaper than some of the “real” colleges. Legit, I have no debt right now. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Anyways, I have a pretty easy freshman schedule too. Luckily for me, the guy that I scheduled classes with helped me literally plan when I had each class so it was a win-win. I only have four classes; Math, Intro to Business, and hour break, Principles of Marketing, and English in that order.

My math professor is pretty awesome (much better than any of my high school math teachers could ever teach). My business professor kind of makes me want to kill myself in the face (I officially renamed it to Intro to Doodling as of today). My English professor, well, I can’t really say anything other than all he really does is make us watch old, hysterically awful episodes of the “Real World” and a reality criminal show from, like, the 90’s. Last but certainly not least, the man who I am going to introduce you lovely people to is my Marketing professor.

Jeez, where to begin. Well, the first week of classes he introduced us to his likeness to women’s underwear. Victoria’s Secret undies to be more specific. I mean, every terribly stereotypical man likes Victoria’s Secret underwear. Not wearing it obviously. Unless if they do, that’s their business. But oddly enough he talked about shopping for pairs and pairs of lacy under-gutchies in the first week for his “wife”. Odd, me and my sort-of-friend Zack (we sit next to each other, so I consider that friends since community college gives little opportunity for any) thought at first. But hey, he shops for his wife or wears them himself, that’s his business. Personally, it was a bit forward to start right at the get-go for his...appreciation for the common lacy g-string or whatever.

My marketing professor also mentioned in the first week that he bakes. I love baking. The oven doesn’t work, but I do like to bake. No big deal. No cause for concern. Sort of. He told us, “I’ll be bringing in baked goods every Friday that I make...with my wife”. Sketch, right? Yeah. But still, not much cause for concern until I saw what he actually brings in. Call me paranoid or picky, but I don’t just pick up any cookie from any old man. I have standards people, and something about a guy bringing in baked goods that were an odd color or just looked off pushed me to stay away from the weekly baked goods.

Lastly (for now), and most scarring of them all, was today. I don’t get sick often and basically never when it comes down to someone telling a disgusting story. But this got me as close as I ever want to be. We started with different brands of toiletries (like deodorant) and how the knockoff brands are often made by the same company with the same quality. Sounds like a normal conversation in marketing right? Until he brought of the first stop; “One time I just bought Lady’s Speedstick because, hell, if it’s made by the same company but just gender specific, how different could perspiration be between the genders? Not much different”.

So what? He used woman’s deodorant before. No big deal, until he went into (without ANY segue whatsoever, not like you can really segue into this) “I shaved my armpits one time...for a contest. I don’t get how women do it, shave everything. Honestly? How do you do it?” He paused for a moment before unfortunately continuing, “I shaved my ass one time when I was in the navy in one of those giant shower rooms that you’d see at jail or camp. I was by myself,”...cause that makes it better...”And how I was doing it was I propped up a mirror against the wall, bent over and started shaving away with a one blade razor.”

By this time all I could do was try and, I’m not even joking with you, hold down projectile vomit onto Zack’s desk. Call it luck or some crazy twist of nature or whatever else; I didn’t have an appetite that day so I didn’t eat. I turned towards Zack, mouth gaping open in COMPLETE horror, and tried to forget what my professor just confessed to the class. Like, seriously? WHY does that need to even be said? This is marketing class, not Confession 101. Being horrified is an understatement too. I get indigestion just recalling that shit. You don’t even understand, like, it was sickening. That’s definitely number one on my list of things that should NEVER be spoken. Not just mine though. You know what, there should be a standard list of things never to be said. On the national level. Everywhere. Illegal.

So does anyone have anything else I can add to this list of “Things That Should Never Be Spoken”? Enlighten me people... -__-