Why Philosophers have no friends.

Our little Philosopher, who will remain un-named because it doesn't really matter, was sitting in an empty classroom, presumably waiting for his next class.  Why else would anyone sit inside a classroom when there are so many other places one can go to sit?  But the answer to this is not important.  What is important to one degree or another (depending on how much you care about the subject) was what our little Philosopher was doing, for he was sitting at his desk scribbling down notes while contemplating things that, for most people, need no contemplation at all.
 
In this instance, he was contemplating the notion of the "number two" to see if it really in fact existed outside of the realm of our human understanding of it.  And although, in his mind, he was making some progress with his contemplation, he could not get an answer.  Mainly because, as he later put it, a couple was in the room discussing matters of absolutely no importance what so ever to him, and therefore were distracting him with what he thought were most likely unintelligent topics.  Although our little Philosopher couldn't have cared less about that particular couple, for if he could I'm sure he would, the couple seemed to mind that he was there.
 
Especially the young lady, who, from the looks of it, was on the verge of breaking up with her boyfriend and did not want anyone to overhear the conversation.  This can be deduced solely from the fact that she kept on glancing over at our little Philosopher with an annoyed expression on her face.  Finally, though he was probably using it as an excuse because he could not arrive at a conclusion to his search for whether or not the number two actually existed, our little Philosopher, in an overly dramatic manner that would have landed him a spot on almost any soap opera, turned to face the young lady.
 
"What?" he inquires.
 
"Um...sorry, but can you please leave the room for a moment while I speak to my boyfriend.  I don't want anyone to hear."
 
"Well," began our little Philosopher, "I do not want to leave the room.  And, on top of that, I am not listening to what you two are saying because I have better things to do.  In fact, let me try to prove just why I am not listening to what you two are blabbering about.  One, for me to listen to anything you two have to say, I would have to care about what you two have to say.  Two, I do not care what you two have to say.  Therefore, I am not listening."
 
The young lady upon hearing this in a heap of rage jumped out of her seat and screamed "you're an asshole!"
 
"Well," began our little Philosopher, "I'm not quite sure I know what you mean when you say 'I'm an asshole.'  For, even though I have an asshole, which I think it is safe to assume you have one as well, since that is one of the external attributes to being human, whereas, it would be pretty hard, as far as my knowledge will allow me to infer, to remove fecal matter from our body without one.  It is not safe to assume that just because I have something, I am in fact that thing in which I have.  Actually calling me 'an asshole' seems to me the same if I had called you 'a foot'. Because, even though you have a foot, it would be strange for me to associate you with just one of the external attributes that you posses.  In this same light, I also find it strange that you would associate me with one of the external attributes, or internal depending on how much you know about the exact position of assholes on the human anatomy.  So, please clarify for me exactly what you meant when you called me; 'an asshole.'"
 
And with this, the young lady stormed out of the classroom with her boyfriend tailing behind. Our little Philosopher then continues to work on his problem concerning the true nature of the number two, but was at the same time reminded of a totally different problem; 'why did he have only two friends on his Facebook account?' And why were they curiously, Mom and Dad?