Things you ride
I received this e-mail two days ago. I can imagine my counselor frantically rubbing her nose to remove all traces of the cocaine before pressing the send button.
"Dear Joshua Yager;
I received your application for degree for May, 2008. You did not answer the question on the form that says: "I would like my pre-renewal college ____________________ printed on my diploma." Yes? OR NO??? This means.....before the "restructuring" your diploma would have read "Tulane College." Do you want Tulane College? OR do you want "Newcomb-Tulane"????"
I'm becoming the class pet of my statistics course. Everyone wants to feed me and have an equal chance to take me home for the weekend. I've been going to some bars near the school with them, and they seem nice, unlike the class itself. It's surprising how difficult it is to teach people the difference between the words ho, host, hose, hos, house, and horse, but maybe even more surprising is the fact that this ever came up in conversation in the first place. House was easy enough, but the other five gave them all a lot of heartache. For example, "a horse is something you ride, but wait, that could be a ho, too."
I was supposed to go to the Amazon today, but had a lot of trouble getting the ticket, so I'll go next month. Then, I was supposed to go to some city in the south, but decided against that, too, so that I could go to a rave with some friends that's not going to happen anymore. So, I guess I'm just going to explore the city this week, because I've already decided that I'm not going to go to any classes.
I spent last night whore-watching. This is a new sport, and the rules are simple. You sit on a street corner a few blocks from my house and watch whores. More specifically, you watch them try to make sales. You score one point whenever a car driven by a businessman drives away, turned off by the high price and consequentially high self-esteem of the prostitute. Two points when a car full of drunk, horny teenagers won't even take her in. Three whenever a skank fight occurs. I don't know how many points I scored last night, but then again, it doesn't matter. Like the Special Olympics, and possibly golf, no one wants to have the highest score, because you're still retarded. Or playing golf. Or both.
Anyway, hope all is well. It's as hot as a Mexican midget advertizing a tamale festival in the middle of the summer, and we don't even own a fan.
"Dear Joshua Yager;
I received your application for degree for May, 2008. You did not answer the question on the form that says: "I would like my pre-renewal college ____________________ printed on my diploma." Yes? OR NO??? This means.....before the "restructuring" your diploma would have read "Tulane College." Do you want Tulane College? OR do you want "Newcomb-Tulane"????"
I'm becoming the class pet of my statistics course. Everyone wants to feed me and have an equal chance to take me home for the weekend. I've been going to some bars near the school with them, and they seem nice, unlike the class itself. It's surprising how difficult it is to teach people the difference between the words ho, host, hose, hos, house, and horse, but maybe even more surprising is the fact that this ever came up in conversation in the first place. House was easy enough, but the other five gave them all a lot of heartache. For example, "a horse is something you ride, but wait, that could be a ho, too."
I was supposed to go to the Amazon today, but had a lot of trouble getting the ticket, so I'll go next month. Then, I was supposed to go to some city in the south, but decided against that, too, so that I could go to a rave with some friends that's not going to happen anymore. So, I guess I'm just going to explore the city this week, because I've already decided that I'm not going to go to any classes.
I spent last night whore-watching. This is a new sport, and the rules are simple. You sit on a street corner a few blocks from my house and watch whores. More specifically, you watch them try to make sales. You score one point whenever a car driven by a businessman drives away, turned off by the high price and consequentially high self-esteem of the prostitute. Two points when a car full of drunk, horny teenagers won't even take her in. Three whenever a skank fight occurs. I don't know how many points I scored last night, but then again, it doesn't matter. Like the Special Olympics, and possibly golf, no one wants to have the highest score, because you're still retarded. Or playing golf. Or both.
Anyway, hope all is well. It's as hot as a Mexican midget advertizing a tamale festival in the middle of the summer, and we don't even own a fan.