ONLY in Syracuse would you be able to bash one of the most honorable jobs in the country. "But Andrew," you say, "Firefighters do a great service to society." Maybe so, but it really helps to know WHERE that service may be done.

Allow me to clarify. Saturday night at 1:30 in the morning, midway through an episode of Maximum Exposure, minutes before I needed to go to bed, the fire alarm in my dorm room goes off. I'm mouthin' off like a fuckin' mothafucka' in a mothafuckin' fuck. I walk downstairs and out of the building. I make it across the street and watch laughed at all of the panicked 20 year old girls crying. They thought it was a real fire or something. The only fire going on is the one in my pants. I accidentally lit my pubes on fire while drinking a flaming moe. You know, Moe (from the simpsons) is the only guy on the planet who could put the word "flaming" in front of his name and not sound homosexual. Just a thought.

Back to the story. So I'm waiting, and waiting, and waiting. The firetrucks are obviously coming. The sirens were louder than the King of Queens after telling him there are no more cheese singles on the service table. I look down the street and see a firetruck on its way to the building.

Here's where the insanity begins. It takes a turn to the WRONG building a block down. The truck is by the WRONG building. I figured, hey, maybe the fire department did not know the area well. Then the Fire chief drives by our building, past the crowd of people. We all cheered him on as he drove right by an emptied building to go where the firetruck was. We waited for about 10 more minutes until they realized their error.

They made a couple of turns and drove down the street perpendicular to where they needed to be. Two firetrucks made it to the intersection where they needed to turn. They both drove past the four-way intersection. The driver in the first truck saw the crowd of students, so he stopped. Both trucks backed up and tried to make the turn onto the street we were all on. That took quite a few minutes. At last, the fire department came.

But, my friend, the fire department manages to make ONE more mistake. When they jump out of their trucks, they go to yet again the wrong building. We scream and shout at two firefighters that are briskly jogging to the wrong dorm hall. About half way to their destination, they turn around and finally make it to the correct building. 15 minutes later, we are finally able to get back in.

So what can we conclude from this whole ordeal? That breasts are really freakin' cool. No, wait, wrong story.

Living at college can be a real drag. Whenever I want to get to sleep, I find myself laying in my bed unable to do so. It used to be because I was thinking too much. But this semester, it's a whole new ballgame.

My neighbors, who I call "The Afternooners," have kept me up many times. I call them the Afternooners because every afternoon, they like having sex. It's the one girl and her boyfriend all the time mating like the Nestle Quick bunny on Easter. I've gotten used to hearing her moan like a dying whale. In fact I've caught her say a few times "oops, I'm sorry."The first time I heard them, I pumped up the song "I'll make love to you" by Boys 2 Men. She and her fuckbuddy came out of their room. Afterward, I immediately ran in my room as so not to get bitched out by a girl that had her coitus interrupted.

Though I wake up to those sounds every now and then, I'm not bothered as much. But lately, it seems everyone's getting their fuckparts working. The people in the rooms above me squeak their bed more than Mike Tyson rapes women. And across the hall from me, my Resident Advisor's been feelin some lovin in her sexhole. My RA is one of those ditsy kinds of women that really have no clue what's going on. Once the bloodrush gushes, she can be a bitch and a half. It's kind of like when the moon comes out and the loveable nitwit turns into the demonic werewolf and ravages the land. I think she's been calmer now that this Italian guy has been railing her sex hole.

One time, when I was in my friends' room (who live right next to her), I heard several tedious moans. In my mind, I believed some girl was being either injected with some form of liquid rophynol or was tied up to a chair and being beaten repeatedly with a bat. I left the room and stood outside her door to hear the two playing intercourse games. And to believe my RA, who looks like she has herpes, is able to get more play than I do. I bet she was doing something else with that baseball bat, if you know what I mean. If you don't, I'm referring to her being penetrated vaginally with it. She must've heard us, because she stopped the fuck session briefly, only to start up when we went back into my friends room. She moans like a banshee mixed with one of those viking opera singing chicks.

The other day, this guy on my floor, Scott, who also lives next to her, said he heard her and her fuck-a-friend talking to eachother and playing genital legos. She asked such questions as "Do you want to fuck me in the ass" and "What, is that like a 69 or something?" Mind you, she's like the dorky girl from Pennsylvania that everyone made fun of in high school for being the class secretary and organizing an Amish themed prom. So when I heard about her sexual deviance, I could only think of one thing. Only an admiral would want to line her uterine pipe with his dong. Everytime I see her, I can't help but ask her how her weekend was, knowing that she's probably been fisted or given the dirty sanchez.