Uncle Sam Wants You! ..To Read This. (He Also Wants Sexual Favors, But That's a Story for Another Time)

Long ass titles are obnoxious..and hilarious.

You should know, I always write titles last.

I think I forgot to mention something about JournalismGirl. We are pretty good friends now.

Also, she's a heckling ginger.

I'm nonchalantly rubbing my eyes and scanning the room for FratDouche.

"He must have partied too hard last night and is currently perched on bathroom linoleum, head slumped in his porcelain throne" runs through my head because he's nowhere to be found.

Micah isn't here either!

"Maybe Micah and FratDouche got slizzard together. NO, NO NO NO..no." My inner-dialogue is challenged.

I hope it doesn't seem like I'm trying to hard on this post.

But if it does, it's because I am.

My mother informed me she thought my last post was my worst yet.

She said it was shit-garbage and then she banished me from the state.

Not really, but she DID call me a pussy. Love ya too mom.

I'm contemplating ways to punish Micah for not coming to class.

Maybe every time he leaves me stranded, I'll write something slanderous about him in my post.

Then everyone who reads this will go to Starbucks (his place of employment) and proceed to point and laugh at him!

MUHAHAHA!

I only know of maybe 4 people who read this. Ergo, don't point and laugh..you'll just look like 4 freaks who won't be allowed in a Starbucks again. Bad idea, bad.

I suppose I could always just flagellate the kid. Look that shit up.

BUT NOT ON YOUTUBE OR ANYTHING! THAT MIGHT BE SCARY! Just go to Dictionary.com

Guess who just walked in, 22 minutes late..

FratDouche.

It's sick how excited I became when I saw him.

I can't wait to write extremely bitchy things about the guy.

Last night I had a terrorizing dream about being surrounded by giant, freaky eels (à la Flotsam and Jetsam) whilst I sat in the fetal position on a rickety dock. Yikes on bikes. I need a dream catcher.

FratDouche is sitting about 4 rows behind me on the opposite side of the room.

I can't crane my neck to see what he's doing without making myself look like a creep who watches people to write about them in a blog they're unaware of. I wouldn't want to look like that kind of person.

I just laughed out loud because some girl was just barking her opinion to Prof. X and without even listening to what she was saying my inner-dialogue said "if you write about her in your blog, call her MouthyHo."

I'm a serious dick.

THERE'S A VISINE FOR THAT!

Okay, I think I've written enough.

You're probably getting sick of it.

(If you ARE getting sick of it, don't tell me, or I'll kidnap your dog and he will develop Stockholm Syndrome and never want to go back to you)

I love you f*cks.

Bye.

Meh

"Life is tough. Its tougher if your stupid."

My papi taught me to live by these words. Life is tough.

But it could always be worse, as we're learning in Journalism class. Professor X has a variety of demonstrations, thumbscrews, stretching racks, water boarding all in the name of Journalism! Lets face it, the Journalism program is loaded here. The bathrooms of the Journalism building a freaking glorious shrines to urinary satisfaction and relaxation. The tiles were imported (in the name of Journalism) from an Incan temple which nobody really cared about. I didn't believe the rumors I heard, so I went to the bathroom and saw with my own eyes- it was magnificent! Especially in contrast to the Media Arts department bathrooms. I saw a few meth addicts and cocaine deals in a single bowel movement. Yes- I did see them, because the stalls have no doors.

Normally I don't mind relaxing on a toilet in plain sight. But its really hard to do that when the man from under the bridge flashes his gun as he opens the paper bag. It just tenses everything up- which is the opposite of a relaxing bowel movement. Its downright constricting.

We need change.

Did You Miss Me? Of Course Not..

Everyone in class today has a cold, I swear.

*sniffle*

*sniffle*

*cough* *sneeze* *cough*

*sniffle*

Ewww.

Just so you know, I am in class, but I'm not posting this from my computer. This, my friends, is from my iPhone.

So I just turned around to tell Micah how cool this is..and naturally he bashed it and proceeded to hack from his throat. Thanks.

My friend JournalismGirl sits to my right..looking at wedding dressed online. FratDouche is directly in front of me, wearing some beautiful man sweater and chit-chatting with the guy next to him.

Oh, and our professor is lecturing on reporting. It isn't very interesting today, hence the phone blogging.

Everyone needs an Instagram account.
Everyone needs a Twitter account.
Everyone needs a Tumblr account.
Everyone needs a YouTube account.
Everyone needs an OA account.
Everyone has a Facebook account.

Reporters get kidnapped and killed. Maybe I chose the wrong major..

Since we're learning about how journalists sometimes aren't safe because of the things they show or tell..I've decided to go the extra mile with this post.
Here is a quick paparazzi-esque photo of FratDouche: