skeptical about the powers of the magic 8-ball? listen here:
i stopped by the murky this morning to get something that would put me to sleep. as i was waiting for a hot tea concoction called ‘dream’ to brew, i shook the 8-ball and asked if it my PC monitor, which died during yesterday afternoon’s thunderstorm, was in working order. the 8-ball said … yes. uh, buh?
so when i got home, i went over to the monitor, hit the power button … and it powered up.
bored? watch the construction of a new printing press facility via multiple webcams set up at the indianapolis star‘s northwestside pulliam production center.
i missed a power outage! yes!
what? centaur was shut out at the 73rd annual fonty awards ceremony? i demand a recount!
tonight, members of the on-campus readership are more than welcome to stop by the purdue beat society callout, located in stewart center room 302, anytime after 19.00. ‘mad beats & cool peeps’ will be in attendance. hey, i’ve even got the DJ lineup handy!
19.00 DJ Rev
22.30 Eden Matrix
most scholars agree: dancing is fun.
what i ate for dinner? the name of the dish should have read ‘petit poulet fromage.’ my bad.
oh, and i need to make another clarification: dressing all in black and standing in the middle of one of the busiest stretches of sidewalk in central campus while waiting for a mid-morning bronze loop run is not ‘stealth.’ the management regrets the error.
let’s see if i can nap for two hours, and two hours only …
w00t! i’m done! bitches be leavin’ all stealth and shite, yo.
did i mention i was a really, really bad girl and blew thirty bucks on dinner yesterday evening? the urge to suck up korbel cosmopolitans was too strong to suppress, i had to kill time beofre a late
date engagement at tony’s, whatever … i went ahead and spoiled my appetite with outlandish chicken soup and ridiculous or whatever the hell it was called. damn, i couldn’t believe how high the mound o’ gourmet mashed potatoes was stacked, and all the pretty tiny bits of onion and pepper and vegetable sprinkled around the chicken breasts, and, uh, yeah, it was decadent as hell. i need to do that more often.
a line from the last critique: ‘there’s another poem in here, trying to break out.’