Let’s begin with my biggest mistake of the day. Wearing shorts. (Getting knocked up at a close second). I missed the memo alerting the public that today was National Freeze Out Day. I have never been so cold. My cheeks are rosier than that of Papa Noel’s. My flesh is the color of a frost-bitten plum. My thighs are number than one’s ass after a high school assembly. Someone could plunge a steak knife into my thigh right now and I would not notice. Who needs anesthesia pre-surgery when you can just step outside your front door in unsuitable attire?
My march from the gym to the IMU quickly became a panicky hustle due to the life-or-death situation I was in. People I blitzed past along the way stared deliberately down at my unclad legs with a look that said, “What the hell is your problem?” opposed to the usual, “That’s a fine pair of legs you have there.” I arrived at the IMU just in time, just moments before I lost all nerve control in my lower body. Lucky for me, this building is thawing me out with its oven-like character. No more shall I complain of the stifling, sweat-inducing heat of the IMU. No more.
I’m about to begin writing my 9-10 page cultural historical paper which is due Friday morning. I could not be more excited. In fact I’m rubbing my palms together in anticipation. The issue here is that I have to finish this bitch tonight or I can’t get abominated on Thursday night for Marcus “Ice 101 Rapes Me” Howland’s day of birth. We’ll see if I don’t commit suicide later in the evening.
Meanwhile I will sit here munching baby carrots like Peter Rabbit and think of ways to get out of having to complete this assignment. Sucking a D, perhaps. Whose schlong do I have to service to get out of this? E-mail me.
“Does she really have a dick?”