Facebook Anonymous.

4 Feb

MAN, it feels good to be DONE! I feel like the genie on Aladdin after finally being released from his “ITTY BITTY living space” of a lamp after six years.

Of course I’m not entirely done with school. I have simply completed my two Sex & Pop Culture papers, one of which was a pain in the ass if I’ve ever felt one, and trust me, Kehly’s stuck it in from behind without warning more than once. You’d think writing a paper over a transsexual who rapes a man with a 12-inch dildo in an attempt to destroy arrogant masculinity would yield mountains of material to write about. Not so. Thank god it’s over.

Now that these papers are finished, the next three days will be dedicated to doing everything in my power not to fail my Survey of Film final like Cole and his latest impotency test.

I am in serious need of some deep-moisturizing lotion. My knuckles are cracking like a pre-pubescent boy’s voice in a freshman choir. Some shea butter would be appreciated. Perhaps some soothing aloe. Really I’m not picky.

I am convinced that Facebook will be the cause of the decline of students’ grades worldwide in our generation. Our addiction to Facebook and Facebook stalking is one far greater than that of any heroin addict. I can’t sit at a computer with internet capacity for longer than five minutes without feeling compelled to check and re-check newly uploaded albums of fagass girls doing peace signs and kissy faces or the status of my 4th grade crush whom I haven’t spoken to since ’95.

It’s a serious problem. My computer-related assignments could be completed in less than a quarter of the time it ends up taking me if I had restricted access to Facebook. Somebody help me. Anyone.

That being said, stalking people online is one of my favorite pastimes. Especially people I hate. Especially people I hate that got fat. Sweet, sweet satisfaction.

Does it make me an alcoholic when I see a photo of people huddled in a booth to naturally assume they are at a bar? I do this frequently, asserting that “Aha, they are at 808, I recognize the seating and the brick walls,” to discover that I am viewing photos of 15 year-olds eating at Applebee’s who are too young to even spell the word “alcohol.”

Sucks to be young.

ALAS, it is time for Kehly and I to uproot ourselves from the rut of schoolwork and head to the gymnasium to sweat bullets well into the evening.

“I’m sorry for assuming you were gay.”


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