Plainly grandiloquent, sophisticated simpleton, uneducated genius. Advising your
professor on literature composition. Pairing a finely aged chardonnay with a craft
macaroni and cheese. Travelling from Babylon to Bombay to mine for sapphire then
catch and release but heading the wrong way for too long to turn around. Now the
devil servant by default for always refusing to bow down. Eyes wide open looking
around the prayer circle. Dose the anointing water, Flame the communion wafer
distributor. Commencing the race between the hare and the turtle. Setting a snail's
pace then blare it to full throttle. Flood the gasoline engine, Syphon the philtre dry.
Stop to ask directions then head the opposite way as if the gas station attendant lies
shrugging ashore. Shoulders that hold the world up in orbit. Little buffalo soldier
dishonourably chest charging his rifle. Role model, reputation sorted. Second hand
medal of valour. No honour among honour roll students, professional substitute
professor and multiple introductory class. You may find yourself less inclined to slack
on your studies. I'm not as lax as some of these phonies. You better act. Somebody
don't belong in the bathroom. Or here's Johnny. Like Jack Nicholson and Danny
Torrent says, Daddy, fail my class and you may as well kamikaze face expulsion or go
directly to hell in a Louis Vuitton hand basket. Don't waste your parents money on
tuition if you're only gonna dilly dally. Trust me, they won't be happy. Best to let them
find you at the bottom of it. Fall splatter. Barely able to. I identify your body, but you
will have the last laugh having escaped the fury of their reprimand. So what's it
matter? That'll teach them a lesson for not letting you follow your dreams. You would
have been the best white water rodeo surfer this side of the Mississippi. But it'll last
your five minutes. It's up the bathroom passes, moments of detonation. No time like
the present to make peace with your higher power. Quit stalling. Shit. Get off the hez.
Shit. You know the drill.
