So, I was having a grand old time with my very good band friends on Friday, and we were discussing what college would be like. Apparently, it's going to go like this:
I'm going to go off to far away lands and triple major at a private college, thereby making me a recluse and extremely poor. After I triple major, I'm going to go to another college that's actually in my home state to get a master's degree in trombone. Why? So I can be in their marching band, of course.
Really. That's the only reason.
The Destroyer/David Hasselhoff (You remember her. We went swimming together. She plays the trumpet) will go off to that in-state college and be in their marching band from the get-go. At around week three, she will have a mental breakdown from the stress of homework combined with the stress of so many intensive band practices. After three days of psychosis, she will stand up and declare the she is the Destroyer/David Hasselhoff and ain't nobody gon get her down nuh-uh. After she has been at that college for three years, I will begin my master's degree in trombone, and join her in the marching band. She will have predicted my arrival down to the last second, and when I arrive, she will be petting her trumpet, saying "I've been expecting you." Only I will be a few seconds late. She will ask if the elevator got stuck (at which point there is a flashback to me sawing at the elevator cable while the first-chair trombone player stands inside) "Yes," I will reply. "On a totally unrelated note, though, I'm now the first-chair trombone player!"
Then we will go on to kick butt, only we'll be really poor. We won't have enough money to drive back home, so we'll go over to our high school band teacher's house because she only lives on campus. There we will tell her horror stories about how we cut off all our hair and sold it for drugs, then how we sold the drugs for food money.
And that's as far as we got. I really don't know why I write this stuff down.