ですか？

Save this stage Yuukeikaha Tochi
Not. This would leave and stop
This stage is like playing without saving
Are not, you want to quit anyway
What?

My thoughts exactly, Google Translate. My thoughts exactly.

Pringles aren’t chips?!

“But he said that Pringles did not meet these criteria - being made from potato flour, corn flour, wheat starch and rice flour together with fat and emulsifier, salt and seasoning, with a potato content of about 42%.”

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7490346.stm

I am shocked, shocked! Well, not that shocked.

Ugh, Ghost Whisperer.

I’m watching Ghost Whisperer for the first time ever, and that stupid bitch is talking to a dead girl and her (alive) father; the girl died in a car crash while her dad was on the way to buy tickets to his “second favourite group”, Broken Social Scene. I feel bad for them that they got mentioned in such a terrible show. I want to give them all a hug.

I am wearing the shirt I got for my birthday …

… in 1997!

Bedpile–Stuyvesant.

In the ol’ bedpile I discovered my 11th grade folder. Some of this shit is depressing, some is just funny.

Excellent answers redacted!

However, having marked redacted’s answers before yours and noticing that they’re word for word, do I assume the work is his or yours?

I don’t mind students working together but I don’t think it helps a lot if I get a false picture of someone’s ability. IT MEANS I CAN’T HELP THEM.

*cringe* Just found a fictional diary written from the perspective of a black South African during apartheid; it’s written in caveman-speak and I suck.

There’s a whole bunch of tic-tac-toe in my page borders but I don’t remember playing tic-tac-toe with anyone. Did I sit in class playing tic-tac-toe by myself? I can’t decide whether that comes under depressing or funny, but I’m leaning toward funny.

There’s a weird number sequence in here that apparently made sense when I was 16 but which I can’t make any sense of now. I filled a page with it like a serial killer from a really lame Jim Carrey movie (tautology).

Michael Jackson
Neverland, LA
USA

Dear Mr Jackson,
Dear Mr Jackson,

I am just writing to say

I apparently got no further than this, but the next page is an essay on the subject of why “Michael Jackson should have his children taken from him.”

A brilliant … what’s that word … I’m hurting my point here … those Japanese poems with the syllables:

macbeth killed duncan
and became king of scotland
then they killed him back

OK, show’s over, go away.

Bed (on the) lam.

I’ve been looking forward to tumbling a joke about fitting twice as much shit under my new, embiggened bed, but it doesn’t fit in my damn room. So the part of my bed will from today be played by God—in the sense that it won’t exist. Boom!

EDIT: Blew in through the window with it, had to friggin’ lift it up to the second floor; fun times.

Attention authority: Vague Rant will fuck you up.

So right now I’m in a government-funded training course which involves units on communication and customer interaction, and as those were matters we were covering today, the instructor decided to play us a seven minute prank call of a man faking a severe stutter, as a lesson on how to politely handle stuttering customers.

NOT.

FUCKING.

COOL.

I had no fucking idea what the fuck was going on for those seven minutes, as the whole class and trainer laughed their asses off at this guy fake-stuttering out phone numbers, names, etc. It was fucked up. I sat there feeling completely lost; was I the only sane motherfucker in Australia? Answer: Yes. After that fucking bullshit was over I asked to speak to the trainer outside and told him the bit was fucked up, playing it as a learning exercise was fucked up, and laughing along with a pranker mining comedy from severe speech disorder was FUCKED UP.

To his credit, he acknowledged that he had been a total fucking douchefork, and apologised to me several times over the course of the class; though I don’t doubt in part because it’d probably mean bad shit for him if his superiors found out, especially as the facility has an entire section (and also another branch nearby) that specifically caters to people with speech disorders and disabilities. He agreed that he had been wrong, and because I genuinely believe he’s just a moron and not a malicious fuck and that he might actually have learned something from the situation, I told him I wouldn’t take it any further, we shook hands and hopefully shit will be cool from now on.

Seven brutal fucking minutes though. I should have said something earlier but fuck if I wasn’t dumbstruck.

My uncle had a heart attack.

I’m conflicted. He’s a douchebag, but then again … No, I guess he’s just a douchebag. Less conflicted than I had thought.

I don’t mean like “He doesn’t like kittens” douchebag. More like “Abandoned his children to his wife and her child molester boyfriend then came back 50 years later and bitched at them for not keeping in touch” douchebag.