Wednesday, August 28, 2002

My life is shit. A big ol' bucket of intestinal pudding. A feces-creamsickle, if you will. Although I don't know how to spell that. Poop poop poop.

The other day I was sitting on a bench on the quad and I wrote "fuck poop" and drew a crude penis and pile of shit on the bench with a rock I found. This was amusing until Mr. Grenke, a tutor at St. John's, came by and I had to lift my legs and lie them flat across the bench, while pretending to be casual.

Poop poop poop.

Some guy in the computer lab just mentioned Cecily's going to Santa Fe. Now I'm missing Cecily again. Grr. He's the other guy from the Pink Triangle Society. I think his name's Andrew. He eats hot veggie subs without olives, as I recall. Nice guy.

So Scott drove me home last night after work and he and I were talking about something really funny and we agreed that I should put it on my blog, but now I don't remember what it was. This is terrible.

There are so many hot freshwomen this year. They are all bombshells waiting to explode in my pants! I can't take it! It's like that song "Pressure" is playing in my underwear!

It was a really funny conversation too.

And now for a little section I call: Fuck dat.

People in the cafeteria piss me off. All the employees are typically pretty cool but the consumers are just walking pieces of shit. I say this with some justification because it is an accepted doctrine that you are what you eat. A bunch of freshmen put their plates on the conveyer belt without putting them on trays, ignoring the large sign that says not to do just that. People come to eat late and refuse to leave when I tell them it's closing time. And worst yet, some motherfuckers make it a hobby to contort their forks for fun. I want to bend these people over a sharp rock and fuck them in the ass with an egg beater, they piss me off so much. So I say fuck dat.

Scott tells me I should say "Fuck the bullshit" more often. Makes sense if you think about it.