And, apropos of the previous post, no sooner had the creationist nutballs left than the Campus Crusade for Christ set up shop in our main lecture hall. They're downstairs as we speak, having some kind of highly amplified swaying soft rock sing-along so goopy it'll send baby Jesus into diabetic shock.
So now my building is full of creepily clean-cut soulless, smiling, nametag-wearing Jesus-Borgs. Pope Ratzinger may give the impression of a reanimated zombie with fascistic tendencies, but I gladly accept that over what's downstairs. I'm getting outta here.