Hey jerks, life at goddard is everchanging as I peel off the many layers of sweaty discontinuity and SEVER LAZINESS it has become quite apparent to me that I haven't victimized enough people here yet. So, in a format you are all very familiar with... I'm going to mock some people at the residency...
Lezza Go!

God's Gift to Hanes Briefs for Men--Ok, so I didn't know the title related elements of this particular sparker here until earlier today, so I'll get to that last. So there's this dude here; it was clear upon our first interaction, which consisted of my hugging my nutsack close to my abdomen in an attempt to protect what little genetic material I still save after learning about how to make 'the perfect smoothie,' while this gentleman talked to some other idiot out on the lawn. He wore a black t-shirt. A plain black t-shirt. In my experience there are three kinds of folks that can wear plain black t-shirts. A--The young hipster who is too jaded with being a hipster to wear band t-shirts anymore, but still caught up in using words like pomo and wearing designer sneakers that look like they've been processed by a yak corpse. B--A young professional who truly loathes, in his/her heart of hearts the entire process of dressing up. Not because they have anything intrinsically against it, but instead is the kind of lazy person who will watch an entire episode of 'big brother' or 'the surreal life' while eating nachos simply because they don't want to go through all the trouble of slicking up their hair for the 17th time in one day. And finally C, the camp that this gent belongs to...CONVICTS. No really, this guy is like two steps from eye-raping me at any given moment. He's got that rat look to him, the eating cheese while putting his dick in the warm hollow he's carved out of your cranial cavity look. And I got to thinking. You know what would be great? Getting a prison tattoo. Like an actual prison tatto. I want the virgin mary, in full regalia of course, pole dancing with Al Sharpton and a filing cabinet disguised as Bee Arthur. Oh and they all have guns for some reason. And I'd have to be all repentant. I could talk about what it's like to be on the inside and how tough life is when you don't have jesus to watch your back. Which brings me to my next point. Apparently this dude works extremely hard to make a display of himself while wearing nothing but the hanes pristine white men's briefs. Now normally, I think we'd all agree that that is PRETTY FUCKIN AWESOME. The Blizzard Briefs Bomber would be a pretty excellent name for a superhero. Hold on its movie trailer time...

Cue the pseudocreepy-dramatic music...close up on man's face...

Announcer: A convict...on the run from the law for a crime he probably commmited but I'm personally not entirely positive...(more shots of man's face grimacing, being angry) About to embark on the mission of a lifetime to redeem himself in the eyes of his fellow man.(Fadeout) Any way he can. (Watch the briefs get pulled up, man bursts out of bathroom in only briefs, clutching hands wildly like a gun)

Man: Who wants to get fuuuuuuuuuuuucked!?!?!?

Announcer: Starring, some guy in his underwear who's not entirely sure where he is.

(shot of man running wildly through halls, laughing and dancing around people waking up)

Announcer: But always sure of what must be done.

(shot of man humping wall like he's trying to knock it down)

Man: It iiiiittccchhhheeeesss!

Announcer: God's Gift to Hanes Briefs for Men stars in BLIZZARD BOMBER MAN: The endless struggle for pants.

I Don't Want to Deal with Amateurs Girl: Ok this one I have to do in first person...
Hey you, yeah you, the kid with the rag around his neck, why are you standing in my precious airspace? God knows we writers need more air than you do, after all, with all of my lofty goals, intellectual language and frenetic lifestyle of sitting on my ass and shoving pork parts into my ever-hungry gullet means I need more oxygen transferred to my blood than you do. You say excuse me? Excuse me? As if the affront of your living upon my person could be mediated through an apology? Somehow made less egregious? I consistently hold this sense of superiority over you to help me forget that my friends used to brutalize me and call me 'the repository.' I spend the majority of my days looking affected and washed out, as if I smoked more cigarettes than the entirety of the ottobar patrons in any given week. My frown is an extension of my inability to handle life's tiny pressures, like putting on my shoes, talking to people or sticking to a diet for more than sixty seconds. GODDAMN I LOVE LARD. Oh yes and being a total assbag. I'm stuck years behind the times, but I cling to an outdated fashion. I like to call it 'I spent most of my youth forcing myself to throw up into the sink at school and collecting my older brothers night emissions to put on my clothes that morning so I could tell the other girls I had bedded the prom king.' Of course now I'm older and much more sophisticated, and try and cultivate the 'I'm still hip and new-wave even though I'm in my early fifties and ogle the men in the sears catelogue on the rare occasions I'm not concentrating on how mind-numbingly ignorant I am' look. Remember I'm always 'working....' Working on keeping up my self-control so I don't go down into town and grind against a nice citizen's warm tailpipe, working on maintaining a professional demeanor while in my ugly sweatpants and sunglasses indoors, working on hiding the scars on my stomach from the numerous self-abortions I was forced to give while doing a 'case study' for a piece I was doing about the army...a piece of ass.<--Fuck this lady.

In other less belligerent news...my whole advising group is pretty awesome, and in conjunction with a few other cool cats here, as actually made for a pleasant time. I'm also pretty excited about my advisor, whom, while clearly not a nerd (who is up here?) seems like he's at least on a similar wavelength to me.

n00b out!