2002-12-14 - 11:19 a.m.

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Laters, First Semester of the end of all semesters

So I'm going home now. I always write in my diary I find, right before I leave to go on a trip or something big, because that way, if I died, I would have had last words. It's kind of awkward to think like that and I don't enjoy it, but I think it's funny if my last words I ever wrote were on some napkin and went something like "I hate writing on napkins" or some stupid, pointless thing that later on, if something happens somehow that I become like martyrd or something (stupider shit has happened) and someone publishes a bunch of shit by me and I become posthumeously famous, and then someone finds the last thing I ever wrote and it was a napkin with a piece of gum in it and they went "IT'S THE SIGN OF TRUE ART! HE WAS AN ARTIST TILL THE END! THE GUM MUST SIGNIFY HIS MIND AND THIS NAPKIN STUCK TO IT SIGNIFIES THE HATRED FOR THE EXACT NAPKIN HE USED TO WRITE HIS LAST WORDS, WORDS DENOUCNING THE NAPKINS" and really it was a piece of garbage that I made fun of, then I could die laughing at silly motherfuckers who find hidden meaning in art, in all forms of art, that were never there, despite the fucked up processes they put that thought there with. Then worms would eat me.

Oh well.

I hate going on trips by any form of public transportation. Buses, trains, planes, boats. My favorite joke about the bus, said by I forget who, is

"HAve you ever taken the BUS? (crowd claps to agree that, yes indeedy do, I have driven in a bus) HAve you ever seen the people on buses? (people begin the pants pissing processes, because a joke of this starting caliber is guaranteed to invoke pants pissing) Everytime I get on a bus and ride, I want to call up America's Most Wanted and just go (in creepy voice) "I just found EVERYONE" (audience explodes into laughter, eyeballs pop out and blood gushes as they laugh. The comedian is assaulted by stray eyeballs, falls unconscious from eyeball melee, drowns in pool of eye blood)"

That's a damn funny joke.

Well, I can't say I'm happy to leave, knowing all too well that when I come back to this place, I'll have to take care of so much goddamn bullshit, I won't know where to start. It's like I've left myself a huge shitburger to eat, the moment I come in the door.

I have to work on Monday.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Not looking forward to that one. Back to the file cabinet, time to wake up at 6AM again and again and again, to file and toil and fail. I hate office work sooooooo very much, at least boring office work. Number work. Not fucking fun at all.

I miss my couchbed already.

BMC

Last Few

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