Not a proud moment, but entirely necessary.

What I'm about to divulge is reprehensible and supremely disgraceful....... I will have to perform shameful acts to earn an A this semester in Cell biology. My professor is a woman and a hippy. One of the dirtiest hippies I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. I guess she's nice but that's just part of her hippy ruse. I suppose I should thank her for being able to withstand the urge to firmly embrace every tree in sight and instead be on time to teach class but I'd rather slap the hippy out of her. How could someone ever want to be a hippy after meeting a hippy? Wouldn't that instill a deeply rooted disdain for hippies?

Anyways I should move on before I chop down a tree with my bare hand out of anger just to spite all hippies. My plan to seduce her involves an intoxicating blend of Patchouli oil and unwashed man. Vomit inducing to normal people, an irresistible aphrodisiac to filthy hippies. I plan to unwrap a box of granola bars and place them in a hemp basket. I would strew them about the room like rose petals but she might consider that littering and ruin the mood. I don't want to incite a hippy rant of how she is economically considerate and therefore a better person than I am; remember I'm trying to seduce her. Although an impromptu hippy protest just might incite conducive feelings within her that will ensure my plan's success. I don't know, go ask a hippy. Then slap them for being a hippy. Hippies are genetically engineered to be wimps so no worries of them physically retaliating. Their filthy, mutated DNA won't allow them to engage in physical altercations, other than to be the recipient of a well deserved beating. They think their words are more powerful than violence. Silly hippies. I forgot to mention that the hippy genome includes an overabundance of the stupid gene. Scientists have yet to discover the hippy gene but have guaranteed the eradication of it once they do. Please donate to this worthy cause. Can you imagine a world without hippies? I can and it is glorious. No more quickly dulling chainsaw blades because some hippy was hugging the tree you wanted to cut down. Nothing dulls a chainsaw blade like hippy bone and cartilage. Not to mention the arduous task of having to get the hippy's blood stains out of the bark and wood. An unnecessary ordeal that will soon be rectified.

Dang it I got side tracked again. My view on hippies is not favorable to their existence and it's hard to control my displeasure for them. Hippies should be the next dinosaurs or dodo bird. Extinct. Although with one major distinction, nobody will ever research or dig up a hippy. Unless of course to spit on their rotting carcass or bones. I'll bet a rotting hippy smells better than a live hippy. What gives hippies the right to eat the grain and vegetables that some starving cow could more deservedly profit from? The cow will feed people by providing nourishing milk, dairy products and meat. The hippy will just further enrage society. I posit that all the world's violence can be traced to a singular cause. Hippies. Why are Middle Eastern countries fighting each other when there are no hippies over there you ask? Because they heard about hippies. That's all it takes.

There I go again. In summary, I'm going to have to do what no sane man should ever be forced to do. NEVERMIND!! Oh man what was I thinking?!?! I almost did the stupidest thing ever. I can't believe I even considered risking exposure and unavoidable infection from hippy interaction. It's bad enough having to see them in public. They should be locked in an escape proof, hermetically sealed cage so that they will be unable to further infect society with their love based ideology. I love love but I loathe hippies and it angers me that they selfishly and without permission adopted love as part of their culture. Parents, encourage your children to become scientists to help make the eradication of all hippies a quick reality. If you are a hippy and have made it this far, you know I speak the truth. You know you aren't happy. Drop the piss poor act. How you can rectify your hippy transgressions you ask? Be a Drano consumption tester. Perhaps an immobile pedestrian for the car industry's experiments of how the human body responds when hit head on by an automobile moving at 150 miles an hour. I hear they have great benefits. Be a test body for a blind surgeon performing intricate heart and brain surgeries for the first time with no prior medical training. There's so much to choose from and so many ways you can repay society for your inexcusable hippy infractions. Select wisely.

Dating LDS Girls

I HATE DATING LDS GIRLS. I think there is something wrong with them, or at least the ones I date. I readily admit I am superficial when it comes to girls and probably more so than most. Looks are the first thing that attracts me to a girl and then they either get more attractive or less as I get to know them. There has to be that initial attraction though. It doesn't mysteriously sprout after I get to know them. I think I am reasonably attractive, okay modesty aside, I think I'm good looking. Not movie star or model good looking, just better than average. That coupled with my personality makes me dangerous. Side note: Either by inspiration or sources unknown, my parents strongly considered making my middle name danger. Okay I made that up. That concludes the fiction portion of the posting. Back to the regularly scheduled program.

Going for the hot ones elicits problems. Especially in a singles ward where the pickings are less than slim. Anorexic. Olsen sister thin. Posh Spice. Sparse. You get the idea. These girls have been hit on ad nausea. This must make them feel they're something more than they are, which is a huge turn off to me, but to not date them leaves me with negative selections. Most of the time I take my chances with the mindset that my charm will disarm 'bitch mode' to a more palatable 'charmed mode'. Beauty does not absolve a hot girl from being a bitch. I don't care what state you reside in. Most, not all, need to be informed of this. Beauty shouldn't be directly proportional to bitchism or lamism (pronounced lame-ism). Both serious diseases. Anyways, I get excited to go out with them only to be incessantly bombarded with contemplations of faking an injury while on the date so I can go home and watch paint dry alone, sober and with no lights on. Most of the time it's that painful. They are patently boring and can't keep my attention from meandering across the restaurant's scenery of women or off the butt of the waitress. Conversely, I date non-LDS girls and have a blast. Maybe because there is no pressure, who knows? Unfortunately I always have to end it with them because I want to get married in the temple and that's not something I'm willing to concede.

Recently my frustration reached a new zenith and the only outlet I had readily available was a girl I had just gone on a date with that was being weird and whether known or unbeknownst was pushing the correct configuration of buttons to incite explode mode. Poor soul. Explode Mode E is pretty elusive and only appears to prevent internal meltdown. Explode Mode E is the direct result of many experiences and frustrations culminating into a catastrophe. It takes a lot to elevate me to this level. When I am mad my tongue transforms into a weapon. I skip the part where you initially brandish it as a warning and instead go straightway to viciously, tactfully, willfully using it to inflict maximum harm until my full fury is spent. The jugular is not my target because it would take a while for someone to bleed out that way. I go for the heart. My tongue knows no boundaries and ruthlessly, efficiently puts people in the place I think they should be in. Horrible quality I know. The fury is short but potent and highly concentrated. Its repercussions and fallout are felt long after. I always apologize after but don't get the chance most often because I hurt feelings people never knew they had. I used to want to be a lawyer. I decided against it when I realized that I would render all other attorneys obsolete after they faced me and I would have no work. Teasing. Many people might thank me though.

Anyway, this poor girl received the full brunt of my recent dating wrath. It felt good to tell her off. I have since apologized. This little episode has left me desensitized and without feeling when it comes to dating. I believe I will take a long sabbatical from it. Maybe even retire, although I pictured retiring from dating for another reason. Marriage, so elusive and obscure. An intangible, foreign concept. I'm kinda ambivalent about it right now. I'll take it when it comes. I just want to find a cool girl to hang out with for now. I say all this and then get a phone call from a different girl. Now I am going to watch a movie with her at my house. Stupid Gemini in me. I should be a girl because of the frequency with which I change my mind. I am a dork, I know. It doesn't make sense to me either. My apologies for the novel. I'll reimburse you for the box of Kleenex for boring you to tears. I'm sure you now feel more qualified to go about your daily business knowing my thoughts on this matter. You're welcome.

Labeling

I realize I have not been as stalwart as I should about posting new material. I will recalibrate my focus and strengthen my resolve to do better. Please send any complaints via phone call to the destination indicated in post Whatever.

I was emailing with my cousin last night. Midway through the volley, a subject was brought up that I have yet been able to reach a suitable conclusion for my analytical mind. If you read the title of the post, you may have an idea as to what it is. Labeling. Namely in regards to encounters and escapades with the opposite sex. Do these people think they are Adam when God asked him to give everything a name? How can you attach a label to an intangible thing? Do these people wear out a hand-held label maker the first day they buy it? They should work for a shipping company, Campbell's Soup, a bar coding company or anywhere else that would require them to attach a label to things. This way their labeling can fulfill a purpose. Heck they'll even get paid to do it.

If it's fun to be with a person, then have fun with that person. What relevance does a label have? Does the invisible tag somehow deter future suitors? No, it's invisible. Unless of course you work together, do the frequent drop in at their work, etc. Clearly there are some exceptions where the tag's cloaking device can be deactivated and made highly visible. These labels usually come with an accompanying warning to avoid any interaction with the taggee. Does a label make the labeler feel more secure with things because they think a label is some how bonding? What is a label? Who bestowed upon them label granting authority? Should future label makers of useful items like those mentioned above, consult them before releasing a new label? Are people now more qualified to enjoy being together because there is a term to define their novel encounter with a person? The provided term one gives can have diverse interpretations to different people. If I'm spending time with a girl it means I like spending time with her. I don't feel compelled to narrowly define it. If it's not ostensibly obvious already, I don't understand time wasted when thinking of and applying a label to time spent with someone. Time could be better spent counting the grains of sand on a beach, seeing how long you can hold your breath before you pass out, dying, coming up with an acceptable reason of how the show "Sex in the City" ever saw TV airtime, then solving the conundrum of how it became a movie. Who cares about ugly whores that can't find a meaningful relationship because they are too busy sharing their tattered female anatomy with any guy that has skin? I can only speculate as to the plot of the show because I throw up every time Sarah Jessica Parker's rat face appears. OH CRAP!! Does anyone know how to get throw up off a keyboard? The mere mention of her name induced an explosive vomiting campaign that has left my stomach muscles in agony. They are still spasming. I would still be spewing from the mention of rat face if I hadn't thought of her in a casket. Which reminds me, what was the best thing Johnny Cash ever did? If you answered die, you are correct. Award yourself one slap to your face.

I am now signing off to go create an anti-labeling spray that will make me impervious to tag sticking. I have a feeling Pam will be a large contributing component. It's anti-sticking prowess is most impressive.