I recently moved into a new apartment and forgot, for about a month and a half, to sign up for internet access. I finally got around to calling the company, but it will still be a few weeks before I can log on at home. But I realized something
POINT: Carpe Diem, Bitches! - By Mary-Kate Olsen (21 y.o.)
Some people think they know me. But they don't. I have been so busy seizing days that I've had no time to get to know those trifling whores. I'm so busy that I'm in a seizing daze - and that's a homonym, bitches! See, I learned that word (along with lots of other three syllable words) during my one year at NYU. -- College? Check.
As I was walking to breakfast one day with my roomate I tripped over something near one of the house entrances. "Perverts and communists getting in my way," I mumbled, but when I looked down to kick the hobo in the chest, I found instead a young man. It gave me pause, and I looked at him for a while before my roommate told me to hurry the hell along.
Hey bros, Pete here. I know it's exam season here at Ridgemont College,
which means you're looking for study aids. No prob man, I got you covered.
It's called The King James Bible.
I know what you're thinking. "How does a 1611 translation of the Christian Bible help with Stat 101?" Look, I know that multiple choice section will toy with your mind like six straight hours of BioShock, point taken. But in all fairness you've got to focus on some bigger shit than the multi-choice.
I’m going to take the high road and not start off this intelligent—I did go to Harvard! Extension school SO counts!—conversation by pointing out my rival’s firecrotch. But you know, if I weren’t so classy, I’d say that she’s had more pictures taken of her vagina than Paris Hilton has STD’s! Ha!
We regret to inform you that Pepperidge Farm is not liable for self-inflicted food-related injuries. Though we empathize with your gastrointestinal plight, our "Death by Chocolate" cake does not guarantee - as the name may suggest - actual death, but describes our unique, patented style of frosting.
My TF told me before that my idea of an introduction was a total failure, and that I should be more direct. Because that raging dickface controls my grades (and by proxy, the only thing that gives me any sense of self-worth) I must cede to his demands.
My thesis is as follows: that I hate this course, and that political science as a science is about as real and substantive as my chances of getting laid in the next three to four years.1