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Whip it again, Devo

2001-10-23 - 5:45 p.m.

I've been reading the Book of Tea off and on for a few days now. It's an early 20th century Japanese work that focuses on the division between East and West, emphasizing the importance tea could play in bringing greater understanding between them.

That's about the only intellectual thing I can think of besides the ambient joy of huge explosions, guns reloading, and very sleek-looking computer sprites packing unrealistically massive amounts of heat. It's not that I like the idea of violence so much as the satisfaction of low-cost, online therapy.

I'm at a loss for what to do. I don't like sitting down all that much, so maybe I'll go for another walk in the forest. It's a pretty clear night out, so it wouldn't be difficult. Having unusually good nightvision balances out my sunlight sensitivity.

I'd pretty much need my flashlight and hunting knife. The knife would probably find more use in scratching hard to reach places than anything. There's nothing in the world more aggravating than an itch you can't scratch.

Speaking of which, I met someone last night. She's young, svelt, blonde, and has an incredibly positive disposition. It's a real shock: she smiles alot, is very pleasant, and actually seemed interested in whatever I was talking about. Now as many of you know, I have a taste in women that borders on the masochistic. They've been ANYTHING but emotionally stable. Then again, I've been anything than emotionally stable. Still, this is a pleasant, incredibly unexpected surprise.

But I can't. No no, as tempting as the idea of helping her edit her play is to get cute and overly friendly, I will not put my existential penis in the blender of life and set it on frappe. I've already been fucked gently with a chainsaw by college and that's the only mistress I can deal with effectively right now.

Oh malevolent hormones and compromising sex organ, why do you vex me so? Is there some conspiracy to overthrow me and institute some chaotic reign of free love and anarchistic sexual abandon? Well damnit that ain't gonna happen...even if I am meeting her for dinner.

The mistress will not be pleased...oy.

Note to self: this was the girl who fancied herself a director and lived in African Heritage house. You sat with her that one time where the black guy said to you "she don't understand, man." Can't remember the name. She knew Victoria.

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