Hand over the Prozac.

3 Feb

YO. What’s crackin’, G-mun.

I don’t know about y’all, but I’m tired of this bipolar weather. I don’t know what Mother Nature is trying to pull by having an 80˚day followed by a 35er with snow flurries. I thought I had officially put away the sweats, but I was sadly mistaken. I’m angry.

Meanwhile, there are only approximately 4 weeks of school left at this point, and that’s enough to make anyone antsy. I’m so ready for summer. I’ll tell you what else I’m ready for–graduation party season. This means hordes of potato salad, sloppy joes, and baked beans for the taking. I’ll be making my rounds and clearing the places out. Be prepared, class of 2007. I may come dressed as a pirate as to make it more rogue feeling. Plus then I can call my goods “booty” and I can say I’m “looting” the place. That’s more fun for everyone.

I recently discovered that my place of venue next year, which are apartments on South Johnson, is located smack dab in the middle of a drug neighborhood. That’s awesome. Actually that’s very convenient considering my habit and lazy nature. It’s funny how things just work out the way that they do.

I’ve begun an interesting new nighttime habit where I ferociously scratch my legs in my sleep. I wake up with bleeding holes and raw patches of skin that I’ve scratched the H out of. I’m not quite sure what to do about this phenomena. My options include wearing gloves to bed, cutting my nails extremely short, and wrapping my legs in some sort of protective wear, but neither of those sound satisfying. I can’t wear socks to bed, let alone gloves. My nails are precious back scratching tools, and I sleep in my undies. It’s a lose-lose situation.

I’ll cut my legs off instead. Who needs ’em.

I’m constantly bewildered by those random ass fellows that request to be your friend on MySpace or Facebook; specifically the ones that are like ten years older than you and live 600 miles away. A 25 year old from Stanton, Nebraska named “Sunshine Girl” with two blogs titled “lol” and “Coin Operated Boy” as her song requested to be my friend yesterday. DE-nied. I also deny people on account of their poor grammar, spelling, or decision to spell things wrong on purpose, such as “babii.” Fags. Fagass.

In the meantime, I need to tan. This is a serious matter at this point. I’m blinding people and scaring small children. I’ve been banned from the nursing home on account of inducing heart attacks and strokes in the senior citizens because they think I’m a ghost. That consequence doesn’t bother me as much though. Nursing homes smell like urine and I don’t like going anyway. F you guys.

“Is it just me, or does this soccer game have more nudity than most.”


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