Sellout

I'm shirtless.
I have a midterm tomorrow in Effective Teaching.
The professor is very animated.
It's a take-home exam. So we're laughin'.
Now, Turpin has lost the take-home examination sheet.
But I'm sure we'll track down another one.

I had a very fun set last night.
The manager of the St. John's Yuk Yuk's (not yet open) was there to scope for talent.
While I pretended that I smoke cigarettes all of the time, he told me many encouraging things.
I have a show at the Rose and Thistle on Wednesday.
The other guys are all worked up about it.
I only see it as more burnt gas.
And emitted carbon.
We're supposed to make some percentage of money.
I'm sure it'll be less than what's projected.
I hate to say, 'I'm not in it for the money.'
But I guess I'm not.
Not when the money is 20-something bucks, anyway.
We hit $100, and it'll be a different story.
I can't wait to get famous.
I'm going to forget everyone.
Family. Friends. Old teachers. You.
Everyone.

Robert Shandera had a bachelor party on Saturday.
I have only seen one picture from the evening so far and it already carries enough weight to keep me out of office for the rest of my life.
We played paintball.
It was funner than anything else I've done in many, many years.
It would be, I guess.
Because it's guns.
Playing guns.
Which boys do. With plastic Uzis and pistols.
But the arguing aspect of guns-the "I got you!"
"No you never!"
"I did too! I got you in the arm!"-
that's eliminated. Because there's a big blotch of paint to say you were gotten.
And, in some cases, a welt.
We were playing the first round of the day.
I was behind a piece of sheet metal.
And I can see our opposing team crouched and lurking across the way.
And I think to myself, "I'm going to run and take cover behind that wooden thing."
I get up, and run as fast as I can, and dive behind said wooden thing.
A second later I hear the thump thump thump of paint hitting the other side of the palette, and I think to myself:
'Oh yeah. I could play this every weekend.'
By the end of the second round we were walking to the 'safe zone', breathless, saying, "Fuck golf."
I plan to play again before it begins snowing.
Though, in truth, I'd be playing now instead of writing this shit if I could.