I spent almost the entire day sitting in front of textbooks studying and it sucked. It’s one thing to study, but to devote over eight hours to it sans e-mail, coworkers, a water cooler… not even a pet gecko to talk to! I felt like bouncing off the walls a couple times… okay, a lot of times… but that’s what Spider Solitaire is for. To celebrate, I’m just going to babble for a while and see where I end up. Just because I can. (And for those of you who may be concerned, there were no drugs involved in this “Dramatization. Not an actual demonstration of Shawn’s intellectual capabilities.” It might seem like it—I can’t say, I haven’t written anything yet—but no need to hide the women and children. Just your pet geckos.)
Now it’s time to contemplate the existence of my can of Dr. Pepper. It’s in a pretty little can, it tastes… like Dr. Pepper… and it’s got caffeine in it. Shit. Maybe this babbling will be influenced by drugs. Well, tough noogies—I’m not going to head to the bathroom and toss my cookies just to make that earlier statement true. And I’m especially not going to toss my cookies because I haven’t eaten any since the middle of last week. And I don’t have any hidden away in my desk drawers to nibble on, either. The geckos already ate them.
Given the prevalence of hurricanes in the last couple weeks, I send out both hopes to the survivors and giggles to Scorpions, an 80’s heavy metal group that sang “Rock You Like A Hurricane.” I would just loooove to see rock stars getting thrown through all the windows in a huge glass skyscraper… But what would happen when you run out of musicians? Do you start making tiny instruments, taping them to arachnids and try smashing stuff up with those instead? They’d bounce off! Maybe if hurricanes were made up of fast-moving scorpions with plastic guitars attached, we’d all be better off.
I’m feeling kinda hungry. I’d say I have an empty stomach, but is it ever really empty? Wouldn’t that require a black hole in the pit of your gut or something? A pool of nothingness that would suck you into yourself—you’re sitting in the restaurant, your waitress brings your food, but you’re not there anymore and she’s pissed off because you ordered the biggest possible meal (not surprising, given the total vacuum inside of you) and she’s getting shafted for the tip! That’s it—if you ever have an empty stomach, stay home. Collapsing into your own pool of nothingness is just fine, but why bother someone else with your personal problems? Especially when the landlord comes by to demand the rent after three months and you haven’t been around to clean the dishes in the sink from your last meal… man, you’re being so self-centered by letting yourself get so hungry…
In closing, here’s a quote from my former roommate, John Sherck. We were talking about the bar exam, I said I hated essays and he was horrified! Me, who majored in both English and Philosophy! When I clarified that I meant legal essays, he sympathized—”You give them an artiste of words and they want a fucking dictionary.”
