You've Been Warned

Look at the top of the page. See that button that say's "Next Blog", or whatever the hell it actually says? Don't click on it.

I'm not being selfish when I tell you this. You can get up and leave for all I care, just don't click on that link. Doing so indeed takes you to another blog. So what's the big deal you ask? Oh, it's a huge deal.

We're talking kill city if you click on that link. That precious computer of yours? You click on that link and it won't exist anymore. Infiltrated. Diseased. Every kind of nasty thing you could imagine happening to the technology box can and would happen. How do I know?

Because I clicked on the damn link. Here comes another long night.

That's all I got, get out of my house.

Get On The Boat Or Get The Hell Out

Read the title. Either you're in or you're out.

I'm moving on Wednesday. You know what that means: I am nowhere near done packing. There is so much crap to be put into boxes. Here's the problem: I don't have any boxes. None. Could I have gotten some today? Sure. Did I? No. Why? I'm lazy. Am I excited? Yes. Scared? Not one bit, I chew on fear for my midday snacks. Financially strapped? You bet your ass I am.

I should put the word out here to all 3 people that are reading this: Any of you are welcome
to come to the townhouse at any time. You can read that again if you're unsure what I just said. We'll even throw you a themed party. Granted, the themes will be clever ones like, "You actually showed up", or "Congrats on not getting lost", or the ever popular, "We spent the extra 50 bucks for the good keg for you", but you people can never be too picky when you're getting a party thrown in your honor.

A memo to my kids: (editor's note: I do not actually have any kids. I have never impregnated a woman in my life (be proud mom!) When I say kids, I mean the students from my recitation. Once again, I do not have any kids sharing my genetic code) please stop asking me for help right now. I have served my time as your indentured servant. I gave you my number so that the good looking ones might call. Odds are, you are not good looking. I do not want to answer your questions about math that is so retardedly easy a monkey could do it. I don't want to meet with you right now for extra help. Granted, it's finals week, but if you don't know it cold after 13 weeks, you just ain't going to know it. So stop calling. Stop writing me sorry sounding emails. Just fail with grace and dignity, and move on in your academic careers.

I guess it's time for the ground rules. I will update this regularly, and by regularly I mean whenever I remember that I have this thing and post, which will be sporatic at best. Should you come here every day and become my groupie? Sure. Should you start stalking me at the townhouse? Probably not, but some exceptions could be made. Should you comment? Abso-freaking-lutely. That way I can comment back and mock you endlessly. Always good times.

That's all I got, get out of my house.