Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone!

Today is the ultimate lazy day, complete with the ultimate lazy gloomy weather and ultimate lazy itinerary for the day, which consists only of going to the pool and studying, and one of them is procrastinatable until Thursday night. So my day pretty much didn't start until 4 pm. Nice, huh?

To achieve the ultimate lazy day, you have to start with the night before, where you'll need to get as high as a kite, preferrably higher than a kite. Keep the alcohol intake to a minumum level because nothing kills an ultimate lazy day like a hangover, unless you're immune to that. How do you know if you're high enough? Go look at yourself in the mirror. If you can focus and see your own eyes, you're not high enough. Go take a few more hits. If you can't see anything but a blurry son of a bitch starring right back at ya, you're good. Once you're sufficiently blazed out of your mind, watch Pink Floyd The Wall, which is like THE number 1 best-of-the-best movie to watch while your mind is going a light year a minute.

I have absolutely no idea what the movie is about. All I remember was the awesomeness that is Pink Floyd, and that's about it. There's a scene where the camera is very slowly zooming out on a guy's hand. For some reason, I mistook the knuckle for the elbow. And when I finally saw the ring on the finger, I was hella trippin' out, fool! Seriously. It was fucking awesome.

This morning my alarm woke me up at 11 am. Yes, I need alarm to wake me up before noon. Like you don't. Anyway, I went to my car and found a ticket and cobwebs on my wiper. The cobwebs tell me to drive my car more frequently, and the ticket tells me to get a front plate. I've been driving this shitty car without front plate for 2.5 years and I get a ticket telling me to get one a week before I sell the car. Fucking ay. It better be a fix-it-ticket or I'll go postal on those retards at DMV, total apeshit-style, complete with "hasta la-vista, baby" right before I blow their fucking heads off.

In other news, I am strangely infatuated with the cum stain on my No Brand extra-firm pillow from Target (meet all my pillows here). It's about the size of a quarter, and I'm not exactly sure it is mine because I don't remember raping that pillow. Even so, I'm still infatuated with it. I usually read him a story every night before we go to bed together. Right now we're reading American Dream by Neil Gaiman. Last night I stopped reading at the part where a hooker swallowed a man through her vagina because Mr. Cum Stain was visibly shaken by it. Poor baby. He didn't go to sleep until 4 am. After that he kept tossing and turning the whole night.

I wonder if this relationship between me and Mr. Cum Stain is normal.

I also wonder if that is why I'm still single.