Left-right-left-right, stop and land on the balls of the feet

There was this electric heated massager we had in our house a while ago. It pulsated like a motherfucker and got pretty warm, but it didn't do nothing in the way of relieving pain. In fact, I'm pretty sure you were in more pain after trying to use it. One time, I asked my mom if I could use it. Before she gave it to me she said something like, "This gives off radiation. You can only use it on your back." I knew at the time that she was telling me not to put it on my penis, so it was embarrassing for both of us, even though she thought I was clueless as to what she meant. I didn't use it for masturbating, not that I had planned to; think what you will, I used in on my back only. I guess the moral of the story is, "your mom knows you masturbate and that you will do it by any means," and also, "your dad watches porn and if you look hard enough in your house, you'll find it." The second moral is more implicit, but if you read between the lines of the story, you'll understand.

I only went to three classes last week. I'm pretty sure I'm in danger of failing, or at least doing horribly. It's bullshit man, I'm fed up with introductory classes. I need to get to the meat and potatoes. Enough of this bullshit, you understand? Enough patronizing class discussion. Enough.

I wrote some pretty funny stuff for this last issue of NONSENSE that's coming out soon. If you didn't know or forgot, I write for the humor magazine at Hofstra. And for this issue, I wrote some funny stuff for this last issue.

I started drinking fucking lattes. Who do I think I am? I go up to the lady at the Cafe Quad and say, "I'll have a grande latte." What have I become? Grande latte...why would I even do that? They taste good, but I wish they were called "Man Drink." It sounds so much better, "I'll have a large Man Drink." Latte, who's responsible for that one? The French.

Man am I lonely.