On the nature of limpness

My nose is all stuffed up for whatever reason. Usually when it's this stuffed, a nasal spray called Afrin works wonders. Right now I turned to my dad to ask if he had any, but instead of asking for Afrin I slipped and said, "Hey pops, do you have any Viagra..." Yeah yeah shutup. I corrected myself on the quickness and assured him I must have seen a picture of Bob Dole somewhere. Shit. Eyewear, receding hairlines and widows peaks may run in the family- but not THAT. Oh no, never that.

It is at this point that I'd like to give a big Fuck You to Freud and his little "slips" theory. My dangly wangly is checking in just fine and dandy thank you. I ran a diagnostic test and everything. And if you don't believe me that's okay. I'll be masturbating on your front doorstep. My shit is sturdy enough to be a towel rack, among other things. Besides it's not like I'm magically hung, it doesn't take all that much blood to fill up the chamber.

Not hung does not imply small, you fucking black and whiter.

Moving on. Today is Sunday and this is my day of rest. Not because I'm religious or anything, it just seemed like a good day to pick for resting. If it is willed it shall be done. I've trained my friends to not call me on certain days by never picking up my phone. Fuck phones they can write me a letter if they want. I can finally sit and veg out while I listen to some Joy Divison and consume Ben and Jerrys like a chic who just got dumped like a dirty diaper. I don't have to worry about a damn thing. I wish I had a beer in front of me. I'd drink it.

One more week of school. Just one more week.