Fiona left today, leaving the dorm entirely devoid of that blessed (or accursed) race that hails from the country that clings desperately to the hind end of the world like a boil on the tender bits of Mother Earth. She will be dearly missed, as is her counterpart in crimes against canonical English, Alice.
Woot to the nth power; I finally finished "The Bells of Nagasaki," and am never going to look back. The last 60 pages or so were actually fairly enjoyable despite their total lack of originality and literary style, but all in all I would say that the book weighs in about fair-to-middle featherweight at best, like that Edwards guy I hear so little about, only less concerned with law and more with, say, people getting various bits seared off. Maybe it's not okay to poke fun at books about the atomic bomb, but if that's the case then I don't want to knit darling patterns on kittens or whatever it is that is generally considered to be right. After finishing the book I promptly picked up the third Cowboy Bepop manga and mowed through that poor unsupecting mother like a 300-pound man at a mcnugget festival, all kinds of leering and spilling barbeque sauce on the pages while giggling dangerously at the memory of my doctor's advice against ever eating again.
As you may be able to tell, I am certainly not drunk like Dean Martin drunk, but I am certainly not juggle-a-dozen-puppies-while-driving-three-grandmothers-to-church sober either. That is to say, we had a little party at the dorm this evening, and I managed to supply all the liquor, what with the three fifths that I had recieved in stages over the semester and never consumed. These bottles had just sat in my room like precious little land mines of deliciousness, waiting for the right moment when they could burst onto the scene in women's clothing and dubiously applied makeup and paint the town various fashionable shades of maroon with designer sampler lipstick or whatever it is that recklessly cross-dressing alcohol does when it's given a free reign. I think that the biggest thing that changes when I'm somewhat tipsy is that the part of my brain that valiantly fights to filter out the completely nonsensical analogies that the rest of my brain struggles feverishly to churn out completely breaks down, and suddenly everything I write is straight out of a sophomore creative writing class, incomprehensibly overwrought analogies and figures of speech lurching out of every sentence like zombies in some cheap arcade game, waiting for the poorly aimed shot to the head that never comes. Beware, indeed, fear the reign of this most delirious Destroyer of Grammar and Literary Device.
- Gyaa! I'm give up
Naka-ku, Hiroshima
730-0803
JAPAN