I want a pet mouse ever so badly. A tiny white mouse. It will perch on my shoulder and accompany me throughout my home as I go about my daily activities. I’m debating whether I want a mouse or a rat, actually. I feel like a rat is closer to a dog size-wise, making it more legitimate. But those little lab mice melt my heart. They do. I want to name it Doris, or possibly Moose. More recently I’ve been leaning toward “Lloyd Christmas.” We’ll see. The problem here lies in the the fact that I canNOT kill my fish Dickbag to save my own life. He’s been alone in my 10 gallon tank (he’s the size of a large sunflower seed by the way) swimming about for weeks now, somehow prospering. I haven’t fed him or changed his water since spring break, but the fucker just won’t kick the bucket. We’ll see what a little Clorox can’t do.
On my way to class this afternoon, I came across a man’s button-up shirt on the sidewalk. “That’s odd,” I thought. I continued on about another half a block and ran into a pair of men’s khaki shorts. “Weird,” I say. About fifty feet from that, I pass a single stiletto heel. Then, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a pair of boxer briefs on the corner of Johnson and Burlington.
There are some real freaks hanging around Johnson. The shit I find on the sidewalk on any given day would surprise even a junkyard dog. I’ve found handcuffs, a naked blow-up doll, a real sword, innumerable condoms, a shaven head of hair, every article of clothing imaginable, and an aborted fetus.
Kidding about the fetus, but I did see a supermarket bag containing what appeared to be an infant’s head one time. I wouldn’t be surprised.
I continually freak out because I procrastinate on doing my many upcoming papers for school, and then, like tonight, I flee to a computer lab in a panic to begin them. 98% of the time, like tonight, I then find that the assignments are not due until the following week. That means I’ve got seven more entire days to procrastinate. Everbody dance now. Doo. Doo. Doo, doo, doo.
Intervention is on tonight. I can’t wait to see what freaks A&E sniffed out this time. Will it be a pole-dancing crack addict, or a speedballing Walgreen’s manager? Maybe a helpless alcoholic mother of five. You never know. You just don’t.
Me: “I like Superbad because it’s like what high school is ACTUALLY like.”
Jeremy: “I know, all those other teen movies are so unrealistic. ‘Can’t Hardly Wait?’ More like ‘Can’t Hardly Ever Happen.'”