The Secrets of Mojovian V.D. Now Revealed

If you're planning to read the first 10 lines of my column and then abruptly put down the newspaper and walk away in protest of any views I've expressed throughout this semester, please have the decency to recycle.

It's not that I mind disagreement; I'd simply suggest you save any lame and idiotic demonstration of defiance for an ignorant deaf-mute.

If you'd rather not flood my e-mail account with hate mail because of the pesky task of validating articulate points but still wish to dissent, might I suggest something that isn't half-assed. Although burning an effigy of my body and dragging it around campus behind a 2001 Volkswagen Bug would be really flattering, it would be incomplete without some sort of verbal renunciation of my ideas.

And yes, I'm mocking the fruitless nature of last week's Horowitz protest. I bet these are the same people who protest America's obsession with physical beauty by riding the exercise bike and quitting after three minutes.

OK. I don't want to use my final column to discuss how close-minded activists can better waste their time. I also oppose filling your head with mindless drivel with no practical application. Hence, I'll attempt to minimize the fluff in my farewell address.

First, I apologize for never writing about why squirrels are cute. I feel bad, because I know why they're adorable. I'm just too selfish to part with this information.

Also, I meant to get around to discussing this crazy weather we're having, but stuff like rampant hypocrisy and national crises kept popping up. But really, the weather has been crazy, eh?

And for those of you who were looking for someone to pick up the torches ignited by past columnists, I'm sorry if I failed you as well. Discussing the dos and don'ts of self-gratification might be a topic relevant to each of our lives, but I'd rather not treat masturbation as pre-writing.

If you were hoping I'd form another cult devoted to the adoration of a pop music icon, once again I apologize. (Although "Like a Virgin" might make an excellent hymn and Sex reads as enlightening scripture, I'd have a hard time fabricating such a system of morals.)

Seriously though, there are so many ideologies and groups into which I've been meaning to sink my caustic, cynical teeth. I've left so many questions unanswered:

Do indie rock kids become pretentious after buying five eco-friendly buttons for their over-the-shoulder satchels and limiting their wardrobes to pre-owned thrift store apparel?

Or must they first resemble an anorexic Drew Carey and be willing to lie about nonexistent side projects for unknown bands in hopes of impressing other suburbanite students overwhelmed by the ills of capitalism?

Sports might not fall under my jurisdiction as an editorial columnist, but I don't see a problem with poking fun at the unathletic bumpkins picked to kick prize-winning field goals at halftime.

And no, I didn't forget about the Greek system. But there's only so much you can say about walking stereotypes. It's hardly worth devoting an entire column to reiterate the fact that buying friends and making them your clones is a sad way to go through life.

Lastly, I promised one of my fellow columnists that I'd reveal the meaning behind my tagline, "Mojovian V.D." Although it sounds like some sort of genital malady that might infect frequent visitors of massage parlors, it has little to do with me either being an amorous lover or having contracted gonorrhea from a classy whore.

As a freshman, my friends nicknamed me "Mojo." This is because of my Instant Messenger screen name -- Mojovudu2 -- not an innate ability to sweep ladies off their feet. (The name actually refers to a super genius cartoon monkey bent on ruling the world.)

Although I understood "V.D." would be interpreted as an acronym for venereal disease, it actually stands for "voodoo," the second part of my online name.

So, I guess you could say that my column attempted to coax readers to agree with me through a combination of valid arguments, a sensuous voodoo lure and lots of subliminal messages.

Anyway, thanks for reading, good luck on exams, happy holidays and may God have mercy on your soul.

Michael Carlton, by the way, is a junior hailing from Midlothian, Va., who is pursuing a double major in political science and economics. Any taunts, praise, hexes or flaming bags of poo can be sent to carlton@email.unc.edu.