There Are... NO WORDS...

I came out of my bedroom, errr, i mean the guest bedroom, to tell Germone that to get an A in my statistics class for the semester, i only need to get a 45% or higher on the non-cumulative final, and i found him preparing the ABOMINATION you see above. What THE FUCK is it, you ask? why, it's microwaved hotdog in corn tortilla with sour cream and hot sauce surprise, silly! AND when i asked him if he was going to put the saurkraut he's been having me pick up for him on it (just to be clear, i was openly disgusted at the idea, i wasn't making a suggestion) he was like "OH! that's SUCH a GOOD IDEA! but i'm out of it, but that would be AWESOME!"

He must be pregnant or something, and NO, it's NOT mine.

paranoia death throes

last night i decided to drink two large, strong iced coffees that i made with germone's espresso machine so i could wake up and work on my chinua achebe/colonialism/white-people-really-are-the-fucking-devil paper, and i got so cracked the fuck out that i literally thought that i was going to die. as in "i think i can feel the blood clot moving towards my heart," and "i feel that my heart is beating wrong and not distributing blood properly and i'm going to wake up with a cold leg that needs to be amputated," and, of course, "oh god, i don't believe that i quit crystal meth and now i'm going to be found dead of a latte induced stroke/heart attack combo platter." i visualized my eyes bursting in their sockets alá Metalocolypse. poor germone had to hear about it on the phone while he was at work. i was like "i know i'm being paranoid, but my pulse is irregular and my color isn't good," etc for maybe half an hour. happily, germone works with the (officially) mentally ill and has a high lunatic/bullshit/paranoia threshhold and so i somehow avoid an immediate "FAIL."

for now...