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This campus smells like barbecue and it is too goddamn beautiful outside for December 1.
2003-12-01 - 12:33 p.m.


And now, fair readers, for your reading enjoyment, I would like to present a lovely little ditty about a very long parade yours truly witnessed yesterday, sung to the melody of "The Twelve Days of Christmas", and similarly repeated:

The Twelve Days of the Fucktown* Christmas Parade!

On the first day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me, a really old grand marshal named Steve**!

On the second day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me two refrigerators***!

On the third day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me three high school bands!

On the fourth day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me four sons of the Confederacy****!

On the fifth day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me FIVE MODEL PLANES WITH WINGS!!!!!

On the sixth day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me six dance studios!

On the seventh day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me seven extreme wrestlers!

On the eighth day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me eight junior misses!

On the ninth day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me nine guys with go-carts!

On the tenth day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me ten 1920-whogivesashit restored Model Ts!

On the eleventh day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me eleven Podunk fire departments!

On the twelfth day of the Fucktown Christmas parade, the parade director gave to me twelve ladies with femullets!

Notes:

*Fucktown is nearby to Hickville. I got to see my sister march with her mellomaphone in this parade, the longest parade in the history of ever.

**I don't really know who the grand marshal was. I don't think his name is Steve. But he was really old.

***I kid you not. I believe there were also a couple of washer/dryer sets along with the refrigerators.

****Now, hypothetically, if you called yourself a son of the confederacy, shouldn't you be about 140 something years old? Don't even get me started on Daughters of the American Revolution.

*****************

Yes. The moral of the story is, parades are dumb. Especially parades that do not involve the throwing of candy!

Anyway, I'm back in Gradschoolville. I admit four days of doing nothing but sleep, eat, and sit on my ass was quite nice. Unfortunately, I now care -123% about the one class, one day, one jury, a couple of final projects, and a final presentation that comprise the rest of the semester. Oh well.

Anti-Grainger postulation of the day: You'd think Irish Tune from County Derry would be nice, but it isn't.

So. Who here thinks I should make my flute students write a ten page paper due in January, on the topic of why not having lessons for a month is going to suck so much and why Sarah is the greatest flute teacher in the history of the world? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I would so love to see my middle schoolers write ten page papers. Especially the sixth grader. ;)

Okay not really. Now who here thinks I have a secret calling as an ethnomusicology professor?

HAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHAAAA.

I should go do something useful, like sell a kidney or some textbooks or something. Perhaps the immaculate and extraordinarily exemplary condition (read: unopened) of most of my textbooks will prompt the bookstore to give me enough money for a plane ticket home next weekend, so as to not have to sit here until Christmas or something. Hehe. :)

Graduate school makes you become addicted to caffeine. Or crack. Who's to say?

Have a splendiferous Monday everyone. :)

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