So, I just saw a guy in a rasta hat hittin’ the pipe in the middle of campus.
Rock on, killa!
I was going to rant and rave about nothing in particular, but the sight kinda mellowed me out, dude — that or I got a mean contact buzz.
It’s like poetry, man.
So now I’m just at a loss of what to write about.
Anywho, I’m really thinking about writing a racy sex column.
I mean it seems to be the latest buzz.
Hey J-PIV, imitation is the greatest form of flattery — play on, playa!
But I’m really not one to follow the trend, so I’ll just stick to writing about weird things that happen to me.
Oddly enough, if sex were to happen to me it would be a rarity, and I’m sure a noteworthy event.
However, it seems girls get more particular as they get older.
And since I’m not much on pedophilia… well, you get the picture.
So, I have a rash on my ass that resembles Mikhail Gorbachev.
And other than itching a lot, I’ve been craving vodka and Farmer’s Bread.
Weird!
I had to drop a class because I was in love with my professor.
Plus, she taught a foreign language, and I was failing it.
But I’m pretty sure I was failing because I was in love with her.
Her accent just killed me.
Alright, so she is a bit older, and is happily married from all I can tell, but damn, a kid can dream, can’t he?
Her name was the best part. I won’t print it because I think that’s illegal, but she is just angelic.
If I’d only written this before I dropped.
Anywho2, Tuesday I told you what a douche-bag was; today I’ll tell you about my first experience with one.
But not with the “people” douche-bag, but the real one.
When I was 8 years old I had to stay a week during the summer with my Great Aunt Edna in Lake Charles.
The week was a total bore, except for bath time because my Great Aunt Edna had this cool rubber tube thing that connected to the shower head, and I thought it was a water gun or a cool way to drink water or clean out your belly-button.
But It wasn’t a cool water gun, or a way to drink water or wash out your belly-button; it was a douche.
I put that in my mouth!
Anywho3, my editors tried to cut that last line — but I stole one’s frat straps and burned the other one’s resume (try to get a job now!)
Alright, I’m spent — I’m off to find that guy with the good stuff (not really). Have a good weekend.