Slow Tonguing...? As much as I wish this post was about making out, it, unfortunately, is not. Rather, it is a plea to a gentleman in one of my classes.
Please, I beg of you, could you consider talking a little faster? Taking 2 minutes to udder a single sentence is not making you appear very intelligent. Is this what you think? Honestly, it bothers me. It's actually beginning to hurt. It pains me. Do you notice it? I do not imagine I'm the only one. It's hard to... imitate... how painful it is... when you speak...in writing,... though... I have... attempted to... within this... sentence. It seems as though you are taking your time so that you have time to think up the perfect words. I understand. I had a vice principal that did the same thing. However, if you are going to demand extra time, please use more thoughtful words. When you pause for a moment and the only word you come up with is "get", it's a little disconcerting. I sit in anticipation thinking that I may be lucky enough to learn a new vocab word, but nothing. So please, if you could, either make it worth it by using some big, fancy words, or pick up the pace. You’re disturbing my doodling.
What Does a Mathematician do When They're Constipated? ............................................................................................ They Work It Out With a Pencil.
*serious laughter* (I honestly laugh every time I tell that joke. It may be the funniest thing ever. I know you've got an awful mental image right now. You're welcome.)
A comment under a past post has inspired the following: I have never really had a dream job. I, at the end of my freshman year of college, have yet to decide what it is I want to do for the rest of my life. I've come to realize that the only jobs I ever get excited about are unrealistic and goofy. For instance, I think it would be fantastic to be the person to make up the random questions in blogger profiles. That, my friends, is the sort of job that I would find ideal. I can imagine myself lounging about my future apartment in some boxer shorts and t-shirt just making up a bunch of random, ridiculous, nonsense. It's not like I don't already do such things. I think it would be excellent to be able to earn some cash off of it.
Why has no one thought of this before? Honestly? It seems so obvious. The Burger King and The Dairy Queen should wed. Their kingdoms can combine to form one dominating royal empire. All the greasy goodness of a whopper jr. with cheese and french fries complimented with ranch sauce, with the naughty pleasure of a cookie dough blizzard or cherry dilly bar. The world would never be the same. One stop for a deliciously fattening meal and dessert. No more settling for second rate shakes, or less than superior burgers. Perhaps the marriage will result in offspring such as Prince Ice Cream Sandwich.
You know you are a geek when you have spring break and are disappointed not in the fact that you are home and working instead of on a beach in Florida, but because your home computer is broken and you ,therefore, cannot post your oodles of fantastic mind ponderings on your blog. (That was a long sentence. 3 points) Happenings included: a wedding, the consumption of a live goldfish, more pride-making urinal pictures, dance mania, "the routine", laboring at the BK, sleep, 1.78 hours in a Walmart, and much more! All of which could have been elaborated on if not for the computer coma. However, the 'puter is being operated on and I have returned to the sanctuary which I call "Mr Dorm" and my healthily working computer.
It's not that this has never happened before, however, it is still a rather new phenomenon for me and I don't understand it. It appears as though I have been uttering things in my sleep again. My unfortunate roommate noticed it twice last night. In fact, I myself noticed. I seemed to have been talking so loudly that I woke myself up. "What are you spraying on me?" I don't know, I simply don't know. In other news: I am a mathematical genius. I look forward to receiving a very satisfying grade on today's intense exam.
Let's face it, the area of the human body upon which one sits is not a pleasant thing. There is not much a person can do about this. Some, however, have tried. I personally do not find shopping for toilet paper an enjoyable activity. However, it must be done in order to keep the posterior area as hygienic as possible. My roommate and I prefer Charmin, for who can live without the ripples? Now I will not hold such a frivolous matter against her, but I believe my roommate has made a terrible mistake in judgment with her last TP purchase. She returned with scented toilet paper. The tush does not naturally smell pleasant, nor does it emit extremely foul smells during the majority of the day. The tush also does not naturally smell of wildflowers. Why would we wish for such things? If I wanted my bum to reek of flowers, I would pick some daisies and wipe with them like a caveman. If we are hell bent on making society's fanny smell better, why not a scent I may actually enjoy? Not that flower's aren't pretty and all, but I'd much rather a guy bought me a cheeseburger. I also like candy. If they've done wildflowers, perhaps lollipop scented butt wipes are not too unreasonable. Although I realize this may induce licking, a major problem. Maybe the key is to make it a natural smell, like foot stench. That way you could rid yourself of any remaining bathroom smells, without stinking of dandelions. Instead of "you smell like ass" or "why the hell does your rear smell like my grandma's potpourri?", you'll hear "man, change your socks or something". I think that would be far superior.
I have a large family, four brothers and a sister. I was raised with have a strong sense of family importance and protection. It is unwise for a person to mess with my beloved kin. While I have no Italian ancestory, I would still advise you against such things. I do enjoy a good breadstick and plate of spaghetti from time to time. This basically makes me a member of the mafia. You have hurt my sister. You have caused her prolonged pain, and for this you must pay. I may not know your name. I may not know where you live. I may not know any teamsters named Benny. I may not even know what you look like. I will, however, hunt you down and beat you. Although I may appear to have no upper body strength, do not underestimate my ability to make you cry. Prepare to weep, you red-light-running bastard. You may wish to consider leaving town, or perhaps even the country. You have been warned.
I've come to realize that I spend far too much of my day doing nothing. Since I only have four classes and I am yet without employment, I often find myself filling my boredom with useless putzing about. Though it may seem as though I have no dreams or aspirations, I do. They just aren't very concrete or definitive in form. That doesn't mean they aren't still floating around in the back of my noggin. This has become frustrating. So, why not spend my oodles of time figuring these things out and doing something about it. The problem is, when I do have a known ambition, I don't know how to achieve such goals. I've always wanted to write a book. So why not begin to delve in that, instead of endlessly perusing the web. The trouble lies in where to begin. I haven't decided on the type of book. I have ideas, but have not yet determined what I want to include. There is also the fear in applying myself so fully in something that no one will be interested in. Can we say fear of failure? However, I vow to write more, even if it's not yet the beginnings of a masterpiece, and play solitaire less. Secondary thought: What is a so-called math major doing writing a book? Thirdary thought: I should "work the bod" more often also.
