Hurricanes are fake. Flooding is real.
A new posting:
Howdy trusted allies. Much is topsy turvey in the world of Professor Passion. As many of you know my home and my city is now underwater. My current life consists of relaxing in a pool while offers of free admission (given out of pity) from Yale and Princeton come in over my cell. Such is the tragic life of a refugee. I can say this: The most stressful part of losing my home, my possessions, my university, my funding, and having to formulate from scratch a plan for life is my once again, at twenty eight, having to live with my parents.
I love my parents dearly and their help is the reason I can spend my time maxin in a pool instead of being a bloated corspe rotting in the superdome, but damn it my mom can’t leave me alone about goddamn toothpaste! I am busy scheming up plans for rebuilding my life and she asks me whether I will have enough toothpaste in Israel. I don’t know when I will be going, or how I will aquire funding for my studies over there, or whether my military commitments will be activated. I am busy finding all of this out, dealing with two American federal beurocracies, the Israeli government and its military, two universities and finace departments, as well as the Jewish Agency for potential academic aid. All this, a pressing time constraint, and numerous lost records. My mom wants to know if I need toothpaste.
My eldest sister suggested to me that I can live in her basement and be a bag boy at the supermarket near her house.Man, that sounds like a great option. I can use my philosophy degree and spread wisdom to the other 16 year old bag boys. Bread on top! Cans on the bottom! Man, nothing like supermarket work to bring in the ladies! Maybe I could save up my money and get a sweet mustang to pick up my prom date in. Christ! I am working on my PhD! IFOUGHT IN COMBAT! Perhaps this is merely pride talking but fuck! Why the hell does she think I would find living in her basement and bag boy work satisfying? Is it because my incompetence caused the hurricane? Is grown up work like construction or checkout clerk beyond my abilities? Maybe when I am thirty and completely bald I can move up to working at Barnes Nobles. The sky is the limit!
Anyway, despite my whining my family has been great. My mom and dad bought me this great computing machine, and some pants. I am alive and well, and with the kind prodding of my parents, regaining the rage that makes me great. Once back in the homeland I believe I will shuck off my apathy and burst forth as the intense warrior scholar I am destined to be. Soon this butterfly will open his wings. Oh, the beauty that awaits!
Howdy trusted allies. Much is topsy turvey in the world of Professor Passion. As many of you know my home and my city is now underwater. My current life consists of relaxing in a pool while offers of free admission (given out of pity) from Yale and Princeton come in over my cell. Such is the tragic life of a refugee. I can say this: The most stressful part of losing my home, my possessions, my university, my funding, and having to formulate from scratch a plan for life is my once again, at twenty eight, having to live with my parents.
I love my parents dearly and their help is the reason I can spend my time maxin in a pool instead of being a bloated corspe rotting in the superdome, but damn it my mom can’t leave me alone about goddamn toothpaste! I am busy scheming up plans for rebuilding my life and she asks me whether I will have enough toothpaste in Israel. I don’t know when I will be going, or how I will aquire funding for my studies over there, or whether my military commitments will be activated. I am busy finding all of this out, dealing with two American federal beurocracies, the Israeli government and its military, two universities and finace departments, as well as the Jewish Agency for potential academic aid. All this, a pressing time constraint, and numerous lost records. My mom wants to know if I need toothpaste.
My eldest sister suggested to me that I can live in her basement and be a bag boy at the supermarket near her house.Man, that sounds like a great option. I can use my philosophy degree and spread wisdom to the other 16 year old bag boys. Bread on top! Cans on the bottom! Man, nothing like supermarket work to bring in the ladies! Maybe I could save up my money and get a sweet mustang to pick up my prom date in. Christ! I am working on my PhD! IFOUGHT IN COMBAT! Perhaps this is merely pride talking but fuck! Why the hell does she think I would find living in her basement and bag boy work satisfying? Is it because my incompetence caused the hurricane? Is grown up work like construction or checkout clerk beyond my abilities? Maybe when I am thirty and completely bald I can move up to working at Barnes Nobles. The sky is the limit!
Anyway, despite my whining my family has been great. My mom and dad bought me this great computing machine, and some pants. I am alive and well, and with the kind prodding of my parents, regaining the rage that makes me great. Once back in the homeland I believe I will shuck off my apathy and burst forth as the intense warrior scholar I am destined to be. Soon this butterfly will open his wings. Oh, the beauty that awaits!
posted by Old Stallion at 6:36 PM
2 Comments:
I hate pants. But I love butterflies. Professor Passion, I think you are going to be all right.
I think grant36elisa is right, Professor Romance. Anybody who wouldn't want to earn between $14.37 and $48.99 is a saucy jackanapes. Click here for more information.
Did you click on it? Nothing happened, right? Ha ha ha ha, what a jerk. Dr. Mystery, 1. Professor Romance, 0.
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