Karate Chop.

4 Feb

Today would have been a good day to wear galoshes. You know, boots. Mukluks. At approximately 1:30 in the p.m. it began to snow full force, and to my knowledge it has not stopped (6:13). We’ve got over 3 inches I’d say. My sneakers are soaking. I am elated. Snow gives me more joy than poking fun at handicapped kids. Nothing could kill my buzz at this point EXCEPT…

Oh yes, finals week, which is fast approaching. I don’t know who the staff at the University of Iowa think they are, raining on my parade like this and dictating my good mood like they do. It’s not right. Isn’t there an amendment against something like this?


An over-expressive and jubilant Russian woman outside of the philosophy building exclaimed to me her hope that they might cancel classes for tomorrow. This would have been a feasible statement if Iowa believed in such a practice. This university does NOT believe in snow days. It just doesn’t. (Which brings us back to them dictating my joy. Bastards). Professors and TAs alike believe that no element of nature, life-threatening or non, should stop us from furthering our education. I’m not sure that the coming of the apolcalypse, like blazing balls of fire raining from the heavens, would persuade anyone at this school to call off class.


Anyway, the other night I had a dream that I angrily stomped a child to death wearing ice skates. Now, before I began my child massacring spree, I had begged other people in my dream to stop stepping on a giant tarantula that was in the living room, arguing that if that spider had been a dog, we would not have been brutalizing it like we were. Moments later, that tarantula turned into a weiner dog. Then I killed the kid.

What does this say about me as a person? I will save a dangerous, ugly arachnid from death, but I will straight up butcher an innocent child. (As a funny side note, the child I killed at the ice arena was originally a very obese Asian man who had been chasing me around the rink. Ha. Racial minorities; they get me). Very interesting. Feel free to offer your analysis.

Time to do work, son. Sonny. Son in law.

“Son” brero.

I’m done.



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