I Want An Acorn To Knock Me The Fuck Out

I, a Dartmouth Student, am at an emotional low point, and I welcome the sweet concussive relief of an acorn taking me the fuck down.

Everyday I pace back and forth along Mass Row, hoping, praying even, that a fat acorn will clock me harder than a fucking brick. I see what God does for other people. As I sit every day in my room in Hitchcock, crying, I hear some lucky son of a bitch yelp, “What just fucking hit my head?” I ask that He do the same for me.

I don’t care what type of acorn it is, so long as it gets the job done. I do ask that it plummets from the highest branch on the tallest oak tree, accelerating as it forms an impact crater on my skull, the pointy acorn tip piercing my soft, stupid brain.

As the end of fall marches inevitably closer, I implore the trees of Dartmouth to end it all. Hit me with an acorn. Please. Or, if I truly am a child of God, skewer me with a full sharp branch like a fucking shish kebob.

I want my funeral to be closed casket.

 

– OG ’22 & IC ’22