Whinging, But in a Somewhat Entertaining Fashion

Today I fell on the sidewalk as a result of it raining frozen vomit all day and all night and Albion neglecting to salt. I'm pretty sure everyone with a 9:00 class in Vulgamore saw this and laughed heartily. Then I went to class and stabbed myself in the face with a mechanical pencil. I cannot do my homework because my roommate has our book and has fallen off the face of the planet. We share books because I am too poor to buy the numerous $70 paperback books required for my classes. Speaking of 313/314, we four will be living in a large cardboard box on Michigan Avenue next year. Got some change, man?

To brighten my spirits I stole an apron from the cafeteria, mostly to spite them for my salad dressing tasting like tequila. It is black, has an enormous front pocket and is very fashionable. Also, today I put a bowtie on Sparticus. I figure if he's going to go, he's going to go looking dapper. Good aspects.

Why am I still writing in this piece of trash? Seriously. Nothing I put in here is remotely entertaining to anyone besides myself and 2/3, and 1/3 of the 2/3 doesn't even use a computer more than like once every two weeks. Sorry Kate.

But there must be a reason, because I'm still typing. Therapeutic? Probably. And it's not like I have anything else to be doing. Oh right, I'm in college. I'm supposed to be buried in homework and a titillating social agenda. Not so much. I have five friends, four classes, and the Internet. I have all the time in the world to talk about and pictorially represent my occasionally humorous but otherwise uneventful existence. I shall.

And let's face it, I have a shirt. And a trucker hat.

72 days until school's over.