Saturday, March 24, 2007


Whenever I am in class and a discussion of some random subject is taking place, say Canadian politics, textile production, string theory or spelunking (it helps if I have little to no knowledge of the subject), I always get a nearly unrestrainable urge to stand up on top of my desk and tell everyone how [insert random topic] really is, using the most grandiose and absurd language and argument I can come up with. I have done this before and I really surprise myself with the shit that comes out of my mouth. Even if I have some knowledge of the subject of discussion I will completely ignore that knowledge and start spouting the most ridiculous bile imaginable. I'm the reason why class discussions are always painful and worthless. But if I can't have a bit of fun in class, then the terrorists have already won. "I am a sick man, a spiteful man. I think my liver hurts."

Danica and I bought a dining room table not too long ago. My main prerequisite in finding a table was that it would easily hold my weight should I ever feel the need to stand on it. I haven't stood on it yet, but then again we have yet to host a dinner party. I'm a moron.

Philosophical arguments should be settled with bare-knuckle boxing matches, much like Bukowski's pitting Hemingway against other writers in heavyweight matches.

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