heh, it's been a while, compadres. finals are making me feel like i'm rowing a canoe made of lunchmeant up the Amazon. also my internet card is broken. which severely limits my online time to that when i can suck it up and use the computer labs populated by freshmen boys playing Ultimate Snood. heehee.
i found this on my harddrive, from about two years ago, when i was a naive and borderline anorexic sophomore living in a tension-filled double (yes, there was a "love triangle" involved, heh. i was dumb.)
this is long. and strange. i think i needed more sleep.
Look, I am holding part of my nose up with my finger.
I hold a tiny nugget of knowledge under each knuckleusually I keep these tiny nuggets to myself. Then occasionally I will spew out the tiny nuggets of knowledge in the direction of the keyboard and write a paper. Spew. Spew.
But there is one thing I am good at. Some would call it a skillI call it a gift. A big, fat gift. This is the skill of rationalizing ice-cream eating, promoting it, and executing it. Hire me America, and watch me make you grow proud and fat and free. Free like the wild eagle, or the head of a Sierra Leone businessman being freed from the constrictive ties of its corporeal existence. I love big words; they make my mandibles fremulate with hyperbolic rapture. Yes, I know; thats what you, America, were going to say. How embarrassing. I guess great minds think alike. Or, one great mind, that is, and one proud, fat country.
So what was the deal with the wrap guy? I mean the east side guy. I said ground beef. I enunciated clearly. There was no meal in my mouth at the time of the alleged order. Yet I got a product with no clear relation to any sort of dead bovine crushed into smaller bovine units. No no, this was rice. Rices. In tiny leafy packages. As ricey leaves go, these were the best. Yet I had so wished for beef.
Now I would like to give a shoutout to the heartland. Yes you, you giant truckers at diners, getting Mom tattooed on your beefy underbellies. Wait, thats just a rash. America: I am embarrassed. My bad. Yet, heartlanders----I issue a call to arms in the form of fat arms. A call to legs..yes fat legs. I will not rest until every grease encrusted carbohydrate/starch product has been personally gorged by Mr. and Mrs. Heartlander. I want to see results. I want fat dedication a la Mother Theresa to those small, skinny Indian babies.
Notice how the babies died. No one will die on my program. Unless they dont do as theyre told. Then holy hell and locusts will rain down upon your inadequately porcine personages like manna from Satan. Yes. And it will be good, saith the beth. Saith it again, Sam. But I just did.
And now for something completely different. My back hurts and I have never seen Beck in concert. I am a nineteen year old college student (this implies studyI feel often as if I either already knew it or I b.s. it in some way that relies on information that I learned elsewhere. Apparently, this implies, I was once a student as your bourgeois terms would so define me. Yet the time for that is past. Oh yes. Now is the time for bach-aches, curly fries, middle English with a French influence, yeahprobably, stealing cutlery, living for pesto bagels and ice cream binges, and much tomfoolery.
Forgive me, America. I just wanted to say tomfoolery.
Sorry.
Anyway, I was the one who invented the nonsense prose piece. I suggested that (roommate) extend her one line ranting in the start of her paper and save it to be added to later. I feel great pride in this, as well as the fact that I originated the abortion joke, not the aforementioned (roommate). But I digress. And we must not rest too long upon our laurelsUNLESS we are trying to conceive a child, in which case, it is generally advisable to rest on those laurels for a good ten minutes after bringing the social commentary of American art through the back door. Well. Except..the front door. As it were.
...perhaps i will post horrible freshman-year poems in a subsequent entry, with editor's comments and an essay on the nature of "closure."
i found this on my harddrive, from about two years ago, when i was a naive and borderline anorexic sophomore living in a tension-filled double (yes, there was a "love triangle" involved, heh. i was dumb.)
this is long. and strange. i think i needed more sleep.
Look, I am holding part of my nose up with my finger.
I hold a tiny nugget of knowledge under each knuckleusually I keep these tiny nuggets to myself. Then occasionally I will spew out the tiny nuggets of knowledge in the direction of the keyboard and write a paper. Spew. Spew.
But there is one thing I am good at. Some would call it a skillI call it a gift. A big, fat gift. This is the skill of rationalizing ice-cream eating, promoting it, and executing it. Hire me America, and watch me make you grow proud and fat and free. Free like the wild eagle, or the head of a Sierra Leone businessman being freed from the constrictive ties of its corporeal existence. I love big words; they make my mandibles fremulate with hyperbolic rapture. Yes, I know; thats what you, America, were going to say. How embarrassing. I guess great minds think alike. Or, one great mind, that is, and one proud, fat country.
So what was the deal with the wrap guy? I mean the east side guy. I said ground beef. I enunciated clearly. There was no meal in my mouth at the time of the alleged order. Yet I got a product with no clear relation to any sort of dead bovine crushed into smaller bovine units. No no, this was rice. Rices. In tiny leafy packages. As ricey leaves go, these were the best. Yet I had so wished for beef.
Now I would like to give a shoutout to the heartland. Yes you, you giant truckers at diners, getting Mom tattooed on your beefy underbellies. Wait, thats just a rash. America: I am embarrassed. My bad. Yet, heartlanders----I issue a call to arms in the form of fat arms. A call to legs..yes fat legs. I will not rest until every grease encrusted carbohydrate/starch product has been personally gorged by Mr. and Mrs. Heartlander. I want to see results. I want fat dedication a la Mother Theresa to those small, skinny Indian babies.
Notice how the babies died. No one will die on my program. Unless they dont do as theyre told. Then holy hell and locusts will rain down upon your inadequately porcine personages like manna from Satan. Yes. And it will be good, saith the beth. Saith it again, Sam. But I just did.
And now for something completely different. My back hurts and I have never seen Beck in concert. I am a nineteen year old college student (this implies studyI feel often as if I either already knew it or I b.s. it in some way that relies on information that I learned elsewhere. Apparently, this implies, I was once a student as your bourgeois terms would so define me. Yet the time for that is past. Oh yes. Now is the time for bach-aches, curly fries, middle English with a French influence, yeahprobably, stealing cutlery, living for pesto bagels and ice cream binges, and much tomfoolery.
Forgive me, America. I just wanted to say tomfoolery.
Sorry.
Anyway, I was the one who invented the nonsense prose piece. I suggested that (roommate) extend her one line ranting in the start of her paper and save it to be added to later. I feel great pride in this, as well as the fact that I originated the abortion joke, not the aforementioned (roommate). But I digress. And we must not rest too long upon our laurelsUNLESS we are trying to conceive a child, in which case, it is generally advisable to rest on those laurels for a good ten minutes after bringing the social commentary of American art through the back door. Well. Except..the front door. As it were.
...perhaps i will post horrible freshman-year poems in a subsequent entry, with editor's comments and an essay on the nature of "closure."
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Hope all is swell
He wrote in that sort of style, although the book was a metaphor for heroin, mescaline, cocaine and you-name-it drug usage. Which oftentimes involved images of apes swinging from trees at a mental hospital flinging feces at people. Or a doctor preforming operations with a rusty tuna fish can. Great book, enticing, is it not??