Sometimes I wish people would call me Dude. Or Duder. Or El Duderino. Don’t ask me why. I don’t have to have a reason. I tried to steal D’s pizza while he was on the phone. I threw a dorito at him in hopes to distract him further, that I might make a quick getaway and enjoy my pizzaliscious victory. He divebombed me though. Fartknocker.

I was in the middle of class today. Not paying attention. Daydreaming of little furry people living in the magical forest-that-is-C’s-ear-hair that speak some made up language like Shooshy or Frumptyfroodenwuffer. I totally lost where I was going with this. Anyhoo, I was reflecting on my experiences thus far in college, and I came to realize how truly deprived I really am. Oh! And speaking of chinese people, a few weeks ago, I got tired of hearing these three little bells on the girls’ door across from us. So I stole em, and attached em to my name. The bells, not the girls. Although that would have been cool. ‘Cause their hot. Anyway. Enter present day. I come home from weekendathome, and I find three (to their credit, new) tamp**s hanging in place of my cute little Bells! I had even named ’em!

So! Having said that, I am open to suggestions on revenge tactics! Any reccomendations may be sent to Ishamael@commonexception.com

And I’m sorry C, but my speakers still kick the spinal cord out of yours. Nubi.