From one of the classrooms that flank the Ives Hall central space, up above, I started to hear someone speak. It sounded like a professor lecturing, but this late? I took a big bite off of my donut - so big a bite, that my incisors just missed the donut hole, and so a precarious sourdough thread was left connecting the “C” as the unfinished donut still clung desperately to its nearly erased identity. Which didn’t last too long anyway - damn, that hole’d one was good! As I chew, I reckoned the ‘lecturer’ sounded just like actor James Earl Jones. Ives Hall had seemed totally deserted and pretty dark, what the hell was anyone doing up there anyway? I leaned back, and, simultaneously, it seemed that the classroom door swung open some more, for the voice was all of a sudden much louder and clearer:

“...back when, after our Lord had modeled us in His shape and image … He stuck his Holy finger cleanly through that clay, in one side and out the other, to create that one distinguishing feature that brands us mortal.

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She complains to you, during an argument: “I need someone who makes me feel whole, someone who makes me feel complete!" Well, sodomize her rectally while she eats a hot dog. The one thing that makes her indistinguishable from you, or Mademoiselle Polaire, or fat and bald Hank Giorlando, is the emptiness that we all surround, the void we all carry around, the zero.

It's the void alone that makes us one with the outside and in turn with each other, its lining homogenizing us all like a uniform. It’s the void alone that’s the singular common denominator. It’s The Hole alone that makes us all, one.”

“We would all look pretty much the same were we reversed.”