Exerpt
Just thought I'd share this. ITs from a very humorous journal I stumbled upon one day. And its English. Huzzah!
It reminds me of me and my friends. Enjoy!
Oh, the University Business. Whenever I think of it, I feel as if I am vomiting a little in, in my chest, you know? It’s so much to do, so much to remember, and therefore I’m at a loss and throwing up all over my innards. Yesterday I, in a fit of rage, screamed incoherently at the computer, strangled a Care Bear and called a friend:
ME: I can’t wrap my head around these forms! I’m useless! Maybe further education isn’t my thing. Maybe I should become a crackwhore.
FRIEND: I’m sure you’d be very good at it; you already have the fishnets.
ME: SNIFFLE. Thank you. I feel better now. I, er, don’t really know what that says about me and I choose not to investigate.
After having yelled shrilly about how I failed at Life, the Universe and Everything for about fifteen minutes or so, I suddenly realised…
ME: Oh, God, I would make such a highly strung crackwhore! I’d be like, “Hello, I am your whore for the WHERE IS MY CRACK.”
I wouldn’t have any customers! I would spend my days throwing open the brothel window, shouting, “I am an artiste! No one understands me!” and finally I would waste away. Tragically. In a bodice. By the open window. In that moment, it was obvious to me that the only way forwards was the academic way.
It reminds me of me and my friends. Enjoy!
Oh, the University Business. Whenever I think of it, I feel as if I am vomiting a little in, in my chest, you know? It’s so much to do, so much to remember, and therefore I’m at a loss and throwing up all over my innards. Yesterday I, in a fit of rage, screamed incoherently at the computer, strangled a Care Bear and called a friend:
ME: I can’t wrap my head around these forms! I’m useless! Maybe further education isn’t my thing. Maybe I should become a crackwhore.
FRIEND: I’m sure you’d be very good at it; you already have the fishnets.
ME: SNIFFLE. Thank you. I feel better now. I, er, don’t really know what that says about me and I choose not to investigate.
After having yelled shrilly about how I failed at Life, the Universe and Everything for about fifteen minutes or so, I suddenly realised…
ME: Oh, God, I would make such a highly strung crackwhore! I’d be like, “Hello, I am your whore for the WHERE IS MY CRACK.”
I wouldn’t have any customers! I would spend my days throwing open the brothel window, shouting, “I am an artiste! No one understands me!” and finally I would waste away. Tragically. In a bodice. By the open window. In that moment, it was obvious to me that the only way forwards was the academic way.