Saturday, February 11, 2006

Van-Halen-Tine's Day.

The title of this post pertains to nothing - I just thought it was funny and clever. Like me. I'm funny and clever.

Well, I finally got that work crew taken care of. Take it from me, ladies and others: NEVER get a work crew. That SUCKED!! Aside from the waking up at 6 A.M. (Actually, I woke up at 5. I prayed that I would wake up in time for work crew, and as a practical joke, God woke me up an hour early. I suppose I deserved it. :) ), I had to walk around in the supreme cold for TWO HOURS picking up cigarette butts. It was snowing, too, so we had to search through the snow. My hands smell of old cigarettes, and I don't know that they'll ever stop. On the other hand, KC and I came up with the early morning garbage gnomes song. That was fun. What else am I doing?

It is snowing like CRAZY right now. It's not quite cold enough to be sticking well enough, but it's starting to, so rock on. Looks cool, anyway. Maybe I can cream Susie upside the head with a slushball.

I actually hate Valentine's day around here. Yeah, it's the day for couples, so what do they do? They SEPERATE THE GIRLS FROM THE GUYS WITH A WALL AT DINNER!!! I mean, come ON!! I mean come on, I don't even have a GIRLFRIEND and that pisses me off! And why? So that those around that DON'T have girlfriends/boyfriends won't feel lonely. Are you kiddin' me? It's VALENTINE'S DAY! Hell, all the lonely people can comfort eachother or something. This college makes me sick. Oh, oh, and this whole poem thing. Do the girls love our generic peotry THAT MUCH? I've been demended to write a poem, but don't they realize mine will be a complete joke? I'm not going to write something sappy. Does it make the girls that much happier to get what is essentially a take on "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue..."? Fine, here's my wretched poem. Give it to the loneliest, prettiest girl you can find:

Roses are red,
Violets are violet,
I sure wish I was
and F-18 pilot.

Then I would fire
a sidewinder missile,
and blow up this college,
to a big smoking pile.

And then I would stand,
on the rubble of St. Joe's,
I'd light a cigar,
in memory of you shmoes.

I hate writing poems.
I think they're quite gay.
But nevertheless,
Happy Valentine's day.

Oh, gee, it was rejected. Well, I tried.