Terminal Preppie

"Wanna get wet, Kage?"
"Already there, Jello."

I go to college
That makes me so cool
I live in a dorm
And show off at the pool 


I join the right clubs
Just to build an impression
I block out thinking
It won't get me ahead 


No, I'm not here to learn
I just want to get drunk!
And major in business
And be taught how to fuck


Win! Win!
I always play to win
Wanna fit in like a cog
In the faceless machine 


I'm a terminal 
Terminal 
Terminal preppie 


~ Dead Kennedys


I’ve written a poem for all of you, on this freezing cold Sunday afternoon.

It’s a bit long, but I think it’s quite pretty.

It goes like this.

Snow. Blows.
In my face.
Fuck. You. Snow.

That’s about it, because I hate poetry. But I thought I would try my hand at a different medium today, since I am trapped indoors, and I wanted to make sure that I don’t go stir crazy.

What’s that? Hold on, everyone. Hunter S. Thompson and Elvis are talking to me from heaven.

Ha ha! Elvis says, “Jesus says Hey, and to buy shares in Enron.” Hunter says, “No, buy shares in acid. It’s going to make a huge comeback.”

But at least I’m not going stir crazy.

Because of the wretched snow, school was canceled yesterday morning, which makes the second week in a row with no classes for me. So far, my track record for this class has not been very good. Last weekend I was in jail, this weekend it’s snowing. I’m assuming next weekend I’ll be involved in a drug cartel somewhere in the South Pacific.

This teacher is going to be a hard one to win over. Especially since I can't cleavage my way to an A, what with her being a chick and all. God damn it.

And my Wednesday afternoon class isn't going so well, either. I was so distracted by Henry Rollins during my first day of classes last week, all I managed to accomplish that day was to make a complete ass of myself.

“Kage?” asked Barbara, in her lovely, mumsy British accent. “What did you write about our character, Geoffrey?”

“What?” I glanced up from my MacBook, and saw that the whole table of students was looking at me expectantly. “Oh, um. Haha! Sorry,” I bit my lip and looked blankly at my computer screen.” I, ah... I wasn’t doing the assignment,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Well, you were tapping away quite furiously there,” she exclaimed. “What were you writing?”

“I was writing...um..." I couldn't think of anything clever to say; I was so busted. I sighed. "I was writing a letter to Henry Rollins, ” I finally muttered.

Silence.

Then, “Okaaaaay,” from Barbara, and she moved on to the next person beside me, who gave Geoffrey a glowing background, from childhood to university.

Fucking Geoffrey. What an asshole. I mean, who is more important? Some imaginary character in my writing class? Or the imaginary relationship I'm having with a real person?

Yeah. THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.

Moving on. Let’s talk about my sexy little buddy, Sugar Free, and the massive amount of work that biatch has created for me.

A few weeks ago, Sugar Free got this award, which she so richly deserves:

If you can tell me what it says after 'Award', I'll give you my first-born child.
You know, since I don't want the little git.

Just after I posted Get Your Gunn, Sugar Free passed this award onto me, after she had made this comment on my blog:

"Dammit Kage!! Stop trying to hypnotize me into being your bitch slave with your crazy MJ albino eyes!!


(I would totally be your bitch slave without the hypnotizing part... just sayin')"

Suddenly all became clear. It was a bribe!  Sugar Free was offering this award on the grounds that I make her my bitch!

Naughty girl! To abuse your power in such a way! To use this award as leverage to get something that you want! I have only one thing to say to you, you wicked, wicked child...

THAT'S MY GIRL! SO proud of you. You may have anything you want, whenever you want it. Just take it.

On a serious note, though, thank-you, Sugar Free. You are one of my favorite bloggers, and a lovely new friend. It is an honor to receive an award from you :)

Bleh. Mushy time over.

I have to give it to someone else now, and I find this very difficult to do. I think I will just draw a name from a hat, so that I am not riddled with guilt for the next however-many sleepless nights.

Coming soon to a blog near you.