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Posts in: November 6th, 2002


More on Fiction Writing

The best birthday present I got was from the two most irritating and horrible excuses for human beings I have ever met, both of whom happen to tag team me with torture on a weekly basis in Fiction Writing. But on Tuesday, they didn’t show up. Neither of them. I was so thrilled, I actually—dare I say it?—enjoyed a session of Fiction Writing. I didn’t really think those two were the dual sources of pain in the class, but the class environment improved so much in their absence, I guess I misjudged the power of their evil.

My sister got me “The Simpsons” Clue, which earns a close second place, tied with the ph@t c@$h I received from my grandparents.

In last place: the clothes my parents gave me. Granted, I like clothes. Granted, I need clothes because my jeans are shrinking (no, really, it’s the jeans), so it was a thoughtful and practical gift, but it’s not exactly the thing that makes you shout out, “Thank God I’m alive!” I was more hoping that I would receive one—if not both—of the Fiction Twins’ heads in a box. Of course, with my luck, the head would then take possession of my body and force me to do its bidding. But it’d be cool initially.

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Explain Why Turning 21 Is Useless in 200 Words or Less or Probably More

The strange thing about this week—and, for the record, my weeks start on Thursday and end on Wednesday night, so right now I’m about done—was that I had a birthday. Theoretically it was an important milestone. If we were still living in pre-Vietnam days, I’d be excited that my 21st birthday rather conveniently fell on the very first election day in which I would be legally allowed to participate. But we are living in a more contemporary society, so that exciting milestone came and went, and the excitement was decreased by the very simple fact that there was no election that year. Also, my birthday did not fall on a Tuesday that year.

Now, the most exciting claim I can stake as a result of this birthday is lower insurance premiums. And it’s kind of sad that I do genuinely find the prospect of lower insurance premiums exciting. Instead of being anally raped by a gorilla who periodically receives brain shocks, I will now be gently raped by a tender lover who will periodically nibble on my ear affectionately. I will wonder at that point how a tender lover who smells of lilac could possibly be cleaning out the rim of my anal canal like so many ear-bound Q-tips, and I will dismiss her as some form of hermaphrodite. Hopefully I won’t be wrong.

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