I didn't watch the Oscars last night... or any night, for that matter. I watched it the two times a certain Jon Stewart was the host, but otherwise, I avoid it. If I wanted to watch something lick its own asshole for over two hours, I'd watch my dog. "Thank you Jesus" this and "I'd like to thank the little people" that. Pretentious adults playing make believe that get high off their own fumes. I love excellent films. I LOVE exceptional actors. I just don't love self love, ya dig? People that throw a party to praise themselves ought to be given nut checks and whatever the equivalent of a nut check is for a woman... breast check? Nah, that just sounds fun and responsible, for that matter. Breast cancer is a serious threat. FOR REALS. Give a hoot, squeeze a breast. Okay, moving on.
I had to write an essay today in class. The professor decided to hand out printing paper for us to write on... um, what in the fuck? Is this not a college class? I'm used to writing with the guidance of lined paper, thank you very much. I'm not a barbarian. But there's no arguing with a tenured professor, so I wrote about why Oedipus Rex blah blah blah "wahhh, I fucked my mom and she bore my weird offspring," etc. I turned in three, count 'em, three printer pages scribbled with my atrocious, downward curving handwriting. I'm sure I'll get an A. I'm not even sure this guy reads what we write. I'm not even sure this guy CAN read.
If you can't tell, I'm rambling on this blog. I have absolutely NO ideas for a good story. It will come to me eventually, I'm sure. I've always got silly things bouncing around in my skull... I just seldom have the patience to put them to paper... or computer, I suppose.
You ever sit around wishing your kids might come out looking Aryan?
I do.
No comments:
Post a Comment