Y= (X squared), where X= the amount of links I can go through on the internet when I should be studying

I did it.  I hit the asymptote of internet procrastinating.  I hit the end and I'm staring off the edge.  I will tell the story, so it can live forever as my last words before I jump off the cliff and enter the procrastination matrix (where I will become Neo and dodge bullets of work, ride a ship of Youtube videos, and fight off hundreds of deadlines with a sign post).

I was searching for the tax form that one must fill out to live in this country and I couldn't remember the numbers.  I searched 1040, because I was fucking right (booyah!) and saw a wikipedia page on 1040.  I clicked on it, interested to see what words of wisdom wiki had about me and my finances, only to find a page on the year 1040.  It listed deaths, births, events, and some other random shit.  I thought to myself, ok, that's a pretty random year to have an entire page dedicated to, but maybe it's because it's a decade, what about 1041? Yep, on there.  Ok, 1341? The year the Queen's college was founded. 211? January- Cao Cao writes Rang Xian Zi Ming Ben Zhi Ling. But surely it can't...2084, the year that Total Recall is supposed to take place.  2158, the year the Central Bureaucracy was established in Futurama.  Tell my family I love them...

Go Green, recycle material!

I'm reposting this for the following reasons: 1) I like it 2) I have a test on Friday and don't have time to be bothered with new stuff 3) I like pancakes. 


"To treat sleep disorders, one large component is to improve sleep hygiene. This includes using the bed only for sleep and sex. Exercise helps too", which of course includes sex. I think I'm going to be the leading prescriber of sex. "To be taken twice daily. Once upon waking and once before bed. Taken either orally or through direct injection. Rectal administration is neither indicated, nor contraindicated. Side effects include feelings of awesomeness and babies. If sex lasts for more than four hours, consult your physician for high fives."

Miracle of strife: Part I

Pregnancy sucks.  There are a number of reasons for this statement, but I will focus on the actual delivery because it is more interesting (and comes free if takes more than 30 minutes).

Here you are, a 9 month pregnant chick, who has vomited for weeks, gained 40 lbs., feels like shit half the time, and has had to let the doctor shove her hand up your vagical play land more in under a year than I have in my whole life (because I don't have a vagical play land).  Then you finally hit your big day.  Haven't you?

Ok, the doctor told you if you are having contractions 5 min apart, come in.  Or if your water breaks.  Well you are having some constant pain, maybe it's getting worse every 5 minutes.  Or maybe it's not.  And you are leaking something.  Although with a person kicking your bladder with a force that could create a Chuck Norris joke, you may be just relieving yourself.

Maybe you should just go in.  It's 3:30am and it's all getting pretty bad, just go in.

So you go to Labor and Delivery Traige.  They put you on a monitor.  A monitor that has never proven to change outcomes (but has proven to put Lawyers' children through college), thereby confining you to a bed for the rest of the time you are in the hospital.  But that's a good thing because giving birth confined to a bed is natural.  As we all know, evolutionarily, those that walked around during their birthing experience were in severe danger of getting spotted by the predators already eating your pregnant neighbor who gave birth while staying still.

Then the doctor comes in, shoves her hand in your vagelina jolie, looks at the monitor, smears your personal, home-made goo on a slide and tells you to go home, you aren't in labor.  "Those" aren't contractions, those are pelvic pressure.  "That's" not your water, that's miracle of life vaginal secretions.  Now go home.

You go home. It gets worse.  You come back.  Monitor on, hand in vagelly bean, goo on slide, go home.  Day later.  Monitor, vag hand, goo slide, go. 4 days later.  Monvaggoo...pause, "You are in labor, congrats!  Get in a room."

You get placed in a room.  You can't eat, you can't get up, and it hurts like hell.  This continues for hours.  Every two hours, a doctor comes in (not your doctor by the way, he's at home sleeping) and shoves a hand up there, yanks it out, shakes her head and tells you it's only 4cm dilated.  This is devastating to you.  Mostly because you forgot how to convert centimeters to inches and can hear Mrs. Farmer laughing at you all the way from 7th grade.  Also you know that you need that number to be 10 or that baby ain't coming out. And that number is 4.

More Vagina Jokes Continued in Part 2

Things I've learned on Peds

I think there is a real deficiency in explaining things through puppets these days.  If it worked for words that begin with the letter R, why can't it work for health care or 1040's?  No Elmo, you don't have any kids, so you put a 0 on this line.

What a stool story!

I don't lie much anymore.  I have no real reason to lie.  I don't have to tell my parents where I just was (the library mom, I told you, we have a presentation and I needed to use the dewey decimal system).  I no longer have real homework, so I don't really have to tell someone about my fictitious, but embarrassing jock itch to get out of turning a paper in by 5pm.  And I've just started admitting I like Justin Timberlake.  So I really don't have many fibs to tell.  Therefore, currently, 95% of the lies I do tell are directly related to me getting away for 5 minutes so I can poo.

"Man, just saw a friend of mine from Chicago; he just started a Masters program here! Talked to him for like 7.23 minutes.  Crazy small world we have!"

"Sorry, my roommate called.  My fish just died.  Are my eyes still red from all the super sensitive crying I was just doing in the bathroom?"

"Sorry I'm late, my dog ate my ability to get here on time."