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Messages - Cainad (dec.)

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Well, this is new.  My uni finance department is refusing my payment.  Usually they have no problem taking vast amounts of money off me, whether I'm willing to give it to them or not.

Are... are they feeling ok?

Or Kill Me / Re: How to deal with an anarchist.
« on: September 02, 2014, 02:17:31 pm »

That was amazing

I feel like I struck gold with the chiropractor I ended up seeing to fix my neck (couldn't turn my head more than 20 degrees left for years). We checked out one who's receptionist went on a spiel about dietetics and holistic medicine, and walked away. Then we found a guy who was just about, y'know, fixing vertebrae alignment. Two sessions of neck manipulation and that was it, no insistence on continued treatment beyond fixing the problem.

All the world is Eris's altar.

My old home tops the list of safest places to drive...Boston bottoms:

Portland comes in the lower quarter (177 out of 200). I have contributed to that.

Worcester, MA at the very bottom. I FUCKING KNEW IT.

Massachusetts is the only place where I've experienced bad driving that could reasonably be described as "evil." Mostly in Worcester.

This is much more fun than me trying to play Skyrim again on my XBox.

 :lulz: Sounds like a hoot.

I have a friend who is very leery of getting More Fun Than He Really Wanted. Hearing about shit like this always makes me want to find an excuse to drag him along into shenanigans.

Well that fucking tears it.  :argh!:  I was already pretty annoyed with anyone who thinks that choosing a hard negative stance on an unverifiable hypothesis automatically bumped their IQ by 20 points, but anyone talking shit about @dril can go piss up a hundred ropes.


fuck no

July the Twenty-Second, Year Two-Thousand and Fourteen:

Why do marshmallows come in such large packages compared to the graham crackers and chocolate bars? The marshmallows are probably the one thing I am least likely to consume on their own. I suspect some nefarious design behind this, but I do not know by whom or for what purpose.

The sixth and seventh s'mores flew by. I can hardly remember them even know, mere minutes after their consumption. This frightens me more than the gooey horror that were the third and fifth s'mores on previous days. Am I becoming acclimated to what I am doing? Does this make me stronger, or weaker?

I have moments of clarity, but only feeble ones in which I can but observe myself moving inexorably forward in time. The s'mores still await me for some horizons to come.

The local grocery store chain has put the ingredients for s'mores on sale for most of the summer. These items are usually placed right next to each other, so that your tiny consumer pea-brain will quickly put the puzzle together and realize that yes, you are an easily-manipulated glucose-burning protein engine and are conditioned to desire things rich in simple carbohydrates.

What I'm trying to say is that I live alone and I impulse-bought a box of graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows, and a package of the sugary soft wax that most will recognize as Hershey's chocolate.

July the Twenty-Second, Year Two-Thousand and Fourteen:

I do not believe that my landlord would approve of my lighting even a small bonfire in the backyard. Even if I did, it would only highlight the fact that I purchased these items without any plans to share them. (For those unfamiliar with s'mores, I should clarify that the items used to make them are only generally available in large packages and are traditionally consumed at summer gatherings).

I also do not wish to use the microwave oven, as that would require me to go downstairs and possibly interact with the other people in the house. They wouldn't understand.

No, they would understand all to well and think themselves superior for not succumbing to the same circumstances which ensnared me in the grocery store. In the absence of dignity, discretion will suffice.

I have elected to roast the marshmallows over a candle, using a fork.

I have eaten three s'mores this night. I can't recall what I actually had for dinner.

July the Twenty-Third, Year Two-Thousand and Fourteen:

I have eaten another s'more upon getting home from work. There is a second marshmallow skewered on the fork, ready to be melted and applied to the other ingredients I have set out on the plate.

I suspect that the mere notion of having control over one's life may be the greatest of humankind's vanities. My fifth s'more in two days lies just on the edge of the Future, and I shall soon find myself reaching past that edge and tumbling into the Abyss of all meaning.

Damn, that REALLY sucks. I'm sure you all will be able to figure something out. I'm located on LI right now, so if there's something I can help with let me know.

Thanks for the congrats, everyone. Self-deprecation aside, it does feel pretty cool.

And I'm sorry to hear that, Suu. It's definitely weird realizing all your grandparents are gone; my maternal grandfather finally passed away yesterday.

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