So usually I walk by the old lady that sits low, hiding in the brush, waiting for the evil dark ones who seek to destroy Notre Dame by stealing a chair or table from the dining hall. Legend has it that the day they figure out how to get a table through that side door by Dillon that Catholicism itself will meet its doom.

These predators of truth and justice stand ever vigilant, watching and waiting, and then belting a hearty "Come back here!" every time I run out the side door. While running like mad, I realize that I left a quality newspaper, such as this one, on the table. I feel bad for a second, but then I realize "I just paid to eat there. That lady can pick up my paper. Besides she's bored. You can tell by the way her shifty eyes move around."

Here's another thing that's been bothering me, these people that play in the snow. It's snow. It's cold. I hate it. Snow is God's way of making the wise suffer and the ignorant happy because they get to dance in the lovely snow all day…. stupid. Tubing is fun, or maybe pretending you're a fish and hopping into a pile using no hands. Other than that, if you're going to play in the snow, you might as well shovel it up. Then take it back to your room. Build a snow fort, play snow football, actually, just make a big pile and make sure you whap your rector upside the head with an iceball when he asks you what just what the heck you think you are doing. Remember, anybody that can't see the fun in snow has no sense of humor. Right?

Point in case: the credit card people. I hate these wonderful pillars of the community. I bet they breed under my basement stairs. That's where the monsters live. They call me and say "This is a courtesy call on behalf of blah blah blah….". Now most people hang up right now, and if you don't, you can smell the anticipation of the swindler waiting for the click, followed by the joyful noise of the dial tone. Of course, this only provides them a reason to call you again when you're not feeling quite as grouchy. Hence, I go into my routine. To stop getting these untimely calls, waste at least twenty to thirty minutes of their time. Start by asking simple questions, such as "What are these newfangled contraptions of which you speak, these credit cards?" Of course pull your worst medieval English accent and speak to them as if you're a beggar, real high pitched and whiny-like. I'm sure these people make more than minimum wage, and if they're going to waste my time, they're going to earn every penny of it. Then ask if they would be interested in trading a limb for some bread. At this point, you have instilled a nice, healthy sense of "My god, maybe this person shouldn't be automatically approved…" and then you're behind the wheel for a change. Always remember this one thing when dealing with these people. They eat shopping carts. Maybe they don't chew them, but trust me, they eat the whole thing.

• I Like Tigers. Big Ones