Tag Archives: how many calories does blogging burn

I am a snooty shop assistant

Hi! How may I help you?

… Is what I would say if I wasn’t too busy being a bitch to give a damn

Listen lady, I know you think you have a right to walk into my store and peruse my damn merchandise, but you don’t. I spent all of five minutes flat-packing that pile of cashmere tights and you’re just disturbing my hard work with your indecisiveness. Don’t you know how chunky you are? The only way you’d look good in cashmere is if you used the paper bag as a headdress and threw yourself off a cliff.

I do not deem you worthy.

And what makes you think you can afford this stuff anyway? This kind of tailoring combined with this fabric… Oh wait, here’s my manager. Crap… say something helpful… shit shit. YES!

“That dress is STUNNING, why don’t you try it on? Sure, I’ll watch your Mr Price bags, don’t worry!”

Cue fake smile. Hold for 15 seconds. Make sure manager has watched demonstration. De-commencing forced niceties in 5… 4… 3… 2…

I bet that dress would look frumpy on you. I practically made sure of it by sending you to the changing room with the fat-adding mirror. Please, don’t bother asking me how it works, this is very technical stuff.

Can I help you find the right size? Not a fuck! Is it on the rack? Is it on the pile? No? THAT’S BECAUSE IT ISN’T HERE! It’s probably in the back somewhere and I’m too lazy to get it for you. I won’t even bother mentioning that I can order it from another branch because looking at the computer would mean I have to stop looking at you with my bitch-face on.

Oh! Have you chosen something? After 20 minutes in this store I damn well hope so. No, the red sticker does not mean that this item is on sale, I just put it there to mess with you. Haha!

As I fold your purchases, longingly… lovingly. I will say goodbye to the sweet lace dress I imagined would be mine. I’m sorry I have to send you away with this cretin, dress. Just know that I will miss you. *Sniff

So what if you have a real job and this dress is worth more than I will make in a month? I have something you will never have: The secret of the fat-adding mirror and the ability to spot a nada from a Prada!

You have a lovely day now. I’ll enjoy bitching about you when I’m on lunch with my friend that works at the MAC counter.

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Schwoar Harold! That zombie almost looks real!

Date: 31/12/2011

The world celebrates the dawn of a new year. Jocks, hotties and other semi-cool people are celebrating with copious amounts of alcohol, karaoke, dancing and picture taking. Almost everyone is doing it, even that Joey guy from Friends. Whatever happened to him anyway? Oh, no-one cares about Joey, his hair doesn’t glisten half as much as Rachel’s. Damn that Rachel.

Somewhere, in the basements/attics/3rd bedrooms of parent’s houses around the world, sits lonely late-20-somethings,  frenzied with scouring the internet for hentai porn, playing World of Warcraft or homing in on their Guitar Hero skills. These people are the scourge of society, your boss or that guy you’ve been flirting with for over a month – ladykiller765.

In the midst of their revelry, something tragic happens to all the socialites of the world. Dr X, an evil mastermind tripping on peyote, accidentally transmits an ultra high frequency sound-wave that triggers a part of people’s brains that turns them into FLESH EATING ZOMBIES. Unawares to the mayhem occurring around them, the nerds, geeks and miscellaneous misfits remain unaffected, safe within the protective layer of their noise canceling headphones. I know what you’re thinking. What about the deaf people Miss blog writer person? You doubt the genius of Mr X. Don’t get all stroppy with me!

The fate of humanity lies in the hands of ladykiller765 and the like. Who will save our species? Who will boldly go where none have gone before? Who will turn off the LHC? Who will blog about the event?

GEEKS or NERDS? WHO WILL SURVIVE A ZOMBIE ATTACK?

One whose IQ exceeds his weight. Places much value on learning the technicalities on almost every subject without feeling the need to put this knowledge into practice. Ignored by society, the nerd becomes a hermit, sharing his thoughts with a select group of individuals, usually using the internet as a medium of communication. Nerds have little to no social skills, possibly eliminating the likelihood of procreation through ‘traditional’ means. The nerd is ill-equipped to defend himself, though is not a novice in terms of knowing what it’s like to be a victim. This may or may not be considered as an advantage. Easily identifiable by his attire, demeanor and reliance on medical apparatuses which often leads to him being the butt-end of the joke. Unless the zombies have a wicked sense of humour and an acute case of  jock-syndrome, it is unlikely that the nerd will be the victor, though he will be able to explain his demise in clinical detail.


Not necessarily as smart as a nerd. One that puts on the façade of superior intelligence through  fixating on a certain type of genre that does not fall within social norms. Not as inept as his nerdy counterparts, the geek’s social prowess ranges from zero-Pete Cashmore. The geek is able to use his technical skills to his advantage, depending on his chosen genre. Therefore, a fitness geek might be more capable to defend himself than a portable geek, a special-effects geek might get too distracted by the realism of the zombies, missing the opportunity to flee or a die-hard video game geek might know all the tricks of the trade.  Most geeks possess a certain amount of sex appeal. Disguised as ‘the dark silent type’, they are able to find a mate in many social settings and even online, either using their natural talents or through acquired knowledge, example: The Game by Neil Strauss.

I don’t know about you, but my money is definitely on the geek. A geek is most likely to survive, find a mate, procreate and continue the species, one well thought out role playing adventure at a time. Although the future generations might be very elitist, it does look bright enough for us to forgive Dr X’s slip-up with the sparkly cactus. In fact, if such a situation were to occur, the future would most likely be run by an operating system, have a soundtrack featuring at least one synthesizer and we’d be able to hyper-jump through the space-time continuum with one click on our i-Pods attached to our jet packs.

Many thanks to the lovely twitter people for all your help in my, at the time, absolutely pointless research. Especially to @LeeAnneOlfsen and @NickJackson for your meticulous proof-reading 🙂

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Like sands through the hourglass…

average-housewife-afternoon-soap-operaI like sordid. In fact, I revel in it. This is mostly due to the fact that I’ve watched cheap soap operas whilst in my impressionable teenage years. I adored Taylor, Brooke, Sammy, Carrie and the other soap opera babes. All of them… It was only during my cynical early adulthood that I realised what they were – ‘Ambitious women that achieve their goals through questionable means’, otherwise referred to as whores, skanks, slappers, tarts, ho’s and sluts. I know, it’s easy to give them all a label and you think that any of those words apply. Wrong! There are intrinsic differences, subtle and equally dirty, but differences nonetheless.

THE ULTIMATE SKANK BLOG.

whoreWhores
Bio: In many cultures, they are referred to as the fore mothers of the modern variants we see frequenting our daily lives, labelled as such by those that prefer to use Old English to define them. Often portrayed as the most vulgar of them all, these women conduct daily life making a living through means of prostitution or stealing husbands. Once their acts are vindicated, they become martyrs, often seeking solace in exotic places such as Babylon or upon silk sheets in hotels along the French riviera.
Habitat: The whore is a nomad by nature, moving to places that allude to offering them wealth, though inclined to settle once their materialistic needs are fulfilled.
Mating habits: The whore uses sex as a trade, through a voluntary process, weighing her outputs against the value of her actions.

Skank
Bio: One of lower class, predominantly found in trailer parks or on the arm of Dennis Rodman. Often viewed as dirty, displaying a lack of personal hygiene and complete disregard for the condition of her skin. May be considered to be less beautiful than her peers. Also, a type of dance that white people do.
Habitat: A native of trailer parks, abandoned high-rise buildings and the back of Ford Cortinas.
Sexual habits: Elusive, often conducted in dark corners. Their sexual partners tend to deny any involvement, often evading questions through a semblance of logic. Ex: “I’d never sleep with her, she’s fugly”.

slut

Slapper
Bio: A party animal. A frequenter of bars, parties, clubs and pubs. That hot girl that’s a friend of a friend of Joe’s cousin who denied you the pleasure of her company and you’ve secretly been lusting after her since then. In it for the good times. Mostly considered as easy when under the influence of alcohol. Uses the power of suggestion to get what she wants without actually keeping to her promises.
Habitat: Trendy nightspots such as Manhattan and The Baron. Photographic evidence usually documented on Thunda.com, later tagged on Facebook.
Sexual habits: It seems as if she’ll do anyone except you.

Tart
Bio: A type of confectionery. Easily identified by her bubbly personality and/or complete lack of brain activity. A serial flirt by nature, the Tart manages to get a lot of attention through very little use of thinkery. Mainly used as a derogatory term amongst older woman of English heritage.
Habitat: Your mom’s tea party/braai, often engaged in conversation with the husband of that bitch Maude, whilst her friends stare at her in aplomb.
Sexual habits: A Tart will deny that she’s ever slept with your husband. You will believe her because she’ll do it in a very ditsy manner. Even if you could prove it, you would never allow yourself to believe that you got ousted by someone perceived to be less intelligent than you.

Ho’s
Bio: A product of hip hop. Not restricted to gender (see man ho’s and faux ho’s). Not necessarily a derogatory term. Created for means of use in rap songs. Words that rhyme with ho: mo’, fo sho’, blow, dough. A ho is a product, usually starting out as a shawty then yo’ girl then yo’ baby mamma and finally, a ho, when she demands alimony.
Habitat: Different area codes.
Sexual Habits: Usually sleeps with rap stars, older women of elaborate means and yo baby daddy.

Slut
pic4smBio: Usually sleeps with anyone as long as they flatter her ego. A woman with the morals of a man.
Habitat: They’re everywhere. Capable of adapting in the most harsh of environments. The Slut is also mobile through means of paying for lifts with sexual favours.
Sexual Habits: Anywhere. Any time. Any place. What? Did you just tell me that I’m beautiful? *pounces*

I must admit, defining these terms took a while and was very difficult at first, but I had lots of fun attempting to. Thanks to those that pushed me to write it. Slappers, the bunch of you.

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Sent from my smart phone.

I know what you’re thinking, not another social media article. Truthfully, I agree, we’ve reached the stage where no-one cares about articles on how to increase the girth of your social media profile. Also, no-one actually uses the word girth in normal conversation. I bet you’re about the google the definition of the word ‘girth’ right now.

Social Media is better than a phone call.
So you went to Vida-e to meet with @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas. You don’t know why you went to Vida-e, it may be that the people on twitter are subliminally sending you messages through their ‘I’m off to Vida-e!’ tweets. @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas is going through a very difficult stage in her life, which is quite evident through her exaggerated sighs. You are unperturbed by this and continue your story about the Don Packett youtube CV rip-off. You laugh. Alone. Manically. @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas does this weird twisty thing with her mouth, not a good sign. She then asks you if you’ve noticed that her Facebook relationship status has changed. Pennies drop everywhere. How could you have missed that? You practically live online. You sip on your Vida-e coffee slowly, at a loss for words.Social Media has made you a bad friend.

Social Media promotes fake laughter.
You’re at work. Your Outlook notifies you that you have a new mail. A combination of intrigue and disappointment flutters. We get it, Outlook sucks. Oh, the mail is from Mr. Joke Sender, it’s a joke you’ve seen on twitter three weeks ago. Your facial expression remains unchanged. Ten minutes later, Mr. Joke Sender comes into your office, grinning with more gusto than Jim Carrey. ‘So… how funny was that mail… hey?’. You like Mr Joke Sender, he’s a bit corny but he’s actually a good person to have around if the printer gives you problems. You can either A – tell the truth and say that you’ve seen the joke, whilst watching him breakdown emotionally, or B- fake laugh. You fake laugh to save Mr. Joke Sender’s ego. You’re going to hell.

If you attend an event that was not mentioned Social Media, chances are, you stayed at home with your cat, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s in you pjs.
Oooh. Is someone getting married today? Are you attending the wedding? Tweet about it. Are you at a braai with other social media folk? Tweet about it. Are you at home with your cat, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s in you pjs? Don’t tweet at all. Put your phone off. Instead, muse about the fact that 5 years ago, you were perfectly happy with the idea of NOT telling the world about every little thing you’re doing.

Social Media promotes emotional outbursts.
OBAMA WON THE NOBEL PRIZE! OMG THEY’RE BOMBING THE MOON! FUCK AMERICA! LET’S BOMB THEM AND SEE HOW THEY FEEL! ALSO, KANYE’S AN IDIOT! I just can’t take this anymore, I can’t believe he didn’t call. OMG YOU GUYS! NICK JONAS IS SO HAWT. I JUST LOVE HIM. I don’t know who to turn to, my life is over. I’m serious this time guys. Get your teeth whitened! Ask me how. Lady, no-one cares. Average person’s reaction to emotional outbursts: ‘Awh, that’s too bad/awesome/hardcore, I hope this phase passes…. OOOH 10 OF THE MOST AMAZING WORDPRESS THEMES ALL IN ONE POST!’ *click* End.

Social Media endorses contradictions. No they don’t! Yes, yes they do…
You’re facebook chatting, posterous’ing and tweeting at the same time. If you were any more awesome, you’d be Guy Kawasaki. You resent that I said that, you hate that I compared you to Guy Kawasaki. You’re shit hot right now, you’ve manufactured your personal brand, have a water tight alias and a very own domain, but something is missing. You live online but crave a simpler existence, hence your constant need to use the ‘lighter’ version of any social media platform. You like the clutter free look but still crave the meatier version. You want a young Sofia Louren but you’re getting Paris Hilton and as much as Paris tries, she’ll never do that hip sway like Sofia. This saddens you. Please refrain from having an emotional outburst.

Social Media turns you into an elitist.
You’re having a pretty decent conversation with a budding entrepeneur. You wonder why you haven’t heard of this cat before. Light bulbs flash – he’s not on the interwebs. You suggest he get on it ASAP in order to increase his brand awareness. You do not pay attention to local internet user statistics. Turns out, ‘this cat’ has an ad airing on SABC 1, a station you vowed not to watch after their recent financial crisis. This does not concern you, the internet dweller. If it is not on social media it does not exist, right? WRONG.

Social Media makes you a bad person.
You’ve seen it, you’ve laughed at it, people have suffered. http://www.latfh.com http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com http://dontjudgemyhair.com http://www.peopleofwalmart.com Didn’t your mother ever teach you to NOT make fun of other people. Save it for family dinner punk.

As much as you want to, you’ll never give up Social Media. Ever.
You laughed at every point I made yet silently agreed at the same time. Addict. You’ll be off to Vida-e to drown your sorrows in a bottomless cup of coffee. You’re hardcore like that.

I have no words. Rather, I do, I’m trying to condense it in 140 characters or less.

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Of Mice and Men

I overheard the term ‘soapbox’ this morning. Strange term that. Before I go on, let me state that this blog has nothing to do with the political and humanitarian rights aspect associated with protesting on discarded soap boxes.

When people say ‘soapbox’ I think of the endless lectures I got from my mom about how sad life was when they lived on the farm that she had to go to the river to fetch water so she could have a bath and she used this certain type of soap that was in a blue paper wrapping. You know the wrapping I’m talking about, the wrapping that gets all goo like after you’ve run from the shower to wherever the soap is kept, trying not to slip on the tiles as you pray that no-one is awake to watch this debacle in mild amusement. Then when you finally get to the shower, your hand is covered in this oatmeal like grunge. I hate that type of wrapping.

Times, as they say, are changing. Not only can you get soap in boxes that don’t disintegrate, but you get soap that promises cleansing capabilities of unfathomable kinds of dirt. Observe:

125837233_m1
I know that the makers of this product developed and marketed it as a sort of ‘kitch-cool’ thing that’s meant to be taken very tongue in cheek, see, I don’t. Why are there only two options? Where is the purple one with the ‘Not a virgin but definitely not at slut status’ title? I demand a purple soap!

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind sluts or virgins. I believe that they are an integral part of the economy. Virgins are the fantasy, the ideal.  Sluts are harder to explain without pissing one gender off… so I have come up with a clever solution:

IF YOU ARE A MAN PERSON, READ HERE
-A slut is a temporary distraction used for purposes of a sexual nature. Does not require any consideration thereon as she is freely available or disposable.
-Someone you can blame when things don’t go as planned, using her ‘wanton’ like ways as an indication of her moral character.

IF YOU ARE A FEMALE PERSON, READ HERE
-A slut is a term made up by men that need their fragile egos stroked once in a while so that they may become productive members of society
-A slut is a woman so envied by her counterparts that her less than equal enemies have no defence against so they resort to mud-slinging by ways of implying that her sexual appetite is morally wrong.

Just about anyone can be a slut. Take this woman for instance

PALIN CABINET

I know which soap you would use Ms Palin. Don’t even try to talk your way out of this one missy.

While we’re in Alaska, did you know that the plural for Moose is not Meese or Mice but actually Moose? Well that’s no fun at all.

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Question: Why is the O before the C? Shouldn’t it be in alphabetical order? And if it was ‘COD’ instead of ‘OCD’, would it be too fishy?

I spent 3 hours organising my iTunes yesterday,  I could have went on all day to be honest. I used to think that I do things like this because I don’t have a life but recent developments in my somewhat tranquil existence has led me to believe that I may have a slight case of OCD. You see, I enjoy this. I enjoy sorting things so that they slot into their correct categories, typing out the track names when they’re not there, scouring the internet for information to make my methodically compiled lists more meticulous.

Scary innit?

As I was searching for album art to link to the albums so that it makes my iTouch look more pretty (why don’t the cd making people put the digital version of the album cover on the cd? don’t they realise that there are people like me that EXPECT things like that to be readily available?), I came across this:
 

linkinfart

Notice something there? Who in the world has time to do things like this? What kind of sick pleasure do they get out of it? People that make things like this ^ have no lives. What is surprising is that there are so many parodies of album covers out there. Parodies I shall not post on my blog, if I do that, it means that I support and endorse said people with no lives which means that I in turn have no life, thus creating a sour vicious cycle of self contempt that I may or may not take out on a poor album cover.

I do have a life. A life with OCD.

OCD is not a disease, its an organised art.

So there.

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I surround myself with stupid people so I feel more intelligent.

The world has a way of making sense just when the outlook gets more mangled than Amy Winehouse’s dreadlocks… A strange visual I know, but that’s the only way I can look at it.

For months now, I’ve been complaining about my job. Everyone knows this because I bitch about it almost every day. I know I should have acted on this feeling a while ago but I didn’t because I got scared. Poor little pampered girl with a fetish for shoes that I am, I was more concerned about the fact that I enjoy and rely on a regular income to keep me fabulous. Also, I didn’t want to lose all that I worked so hard for over the past two years, and I know that knowledge can never be truly ‘lost’, but a reputation and a working record can, especially if I move out of my field.

I’m one of 5 people in the whole country that do what I do. I like saying that because it makes me sound so important, but I’m not that important really, any monkey in a skirt could do my job and still have time to spare.

If there is one thing I could possibly miss about my job, its all the free time, free time I use to stalk people. People that read my blogs. People like you. I know who you are. LOOK AT ME WHEN I TYPE TO YOU. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. YOU OWE ME A MILLION DOLLARS.

Poor reader. I’m sorry you have to read my crap. I assure you that my drivel will cease to be only because I won’t have time to write crap anymore. I’ll only write the important stuff like mission statements and lists about things that are meaningful like ways to cut down on your energy usage or maybe, if I’m really stimulated, a well informed discussion on my views about the state of the economic climate and how it impacts the environment.

Which reminds me, I have another blog to publish about how misleading the scientific community is. If you are a scientist, BEWARE! My thesis lacks evidence and would probably frustrate you, but if you feel the need to send me some sort of message, feel free to do so. I’ll respond maybe, or never, probably never.

So, readers, no more theories about martian kangaroos and toasted sandwiches. I swear. 

… until I get bored of my new job or its totally unfulfillable or I decide to take over the world or clean my cupboard or decide that I don’t need shoes to make me happy and only I can make me happy and maybe I shouldn’t really give a crap about what other people think of me… *deep breath*

so, back to Amy’s dreadlocks, does she ever wash them?

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People love me.

So I write one blog about a famous person and suddenly I’m more popular than Paris Hilton after she flashed her girl bits at poor photographers.

Funny that.

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Fronti nulla fides [Part II]

I love books like this one. Not books about propaganda or mayhem, but ones that make you think about certain aspects of your life for hours on end. In fact, there are hidden messages in almost every form of written text, if you choose to read between the lines, I skill I fear many are losing.

I recently had the pleasure of reading a few fairy tales to my little cousins. On the surface, I was doing quite a reasonable interpretation of a pantomime drama queen, internally, I was beginning to wonder about the message behind the insane drivel I chose to read to them and how much of it would be to their benefit.

Cinderella: A damsel in distress, harassed by two wicked sisters and a ghastly step-mom for most of her life, her story is one filled with woe. After an interlude with a wand-yielding old lady, she gets lucky with a prince and lives happily ever after. They all live happily ever after these fairy-tale people.

Where is the moral of the story?

I thought about this for a while… and was surprised at how very intelligent I am. Not really, this is a lie. I was surprised at how easily I sifted through all the pixie dust and found something quite viable.

See, this Cinderella chick, she was a nice person. She did all the chores in the house and slept in the fireplace. [Maybe she thought that if she stared at the coal long enough, it would turn into diamonds or something, I don’t know, those middle-age people were a bit nutty]. Conclusion: you should be nice to others even though they treat you like shit because its the morally acceptable thing to do. Also: people love the underdog.

But then *dum dum dummmm* in comes a fairy god-mother. Her spell makes Cinderella pretty BUT it only lasts for a few hours. I think the message behind this is that occasionally in your life you get people/situations that gives you a helping hand but you can’t depend on it because it too will fade and after that its up to you to make yourself happy.

So Cinderella meets the Prince and he’s smitten, insane with lust, mouth agape at the sheer awesomeness of her newly magic-ified glory, blah blah. I think this prince is a superficial prick to be honest but I won’t go on to insult him because he’s not part of the story (he’s a Daryll). It took me a while to figure this one out, and I was mighty proud of myself when I did: We are all diamonds in the rough, all it takes is a bit of elbow grease and we could shine like a million suns or be used in telescopes or be used to shine other diamonds (these people are calles ‘life coaches’ or mothers or Oprah)

What about the ugly family members? Well, there is nothing to say about them. They treated Cinderella like shit and deserve to be left in the house, washing their own socks. The whiney bitches. That is karma my darlings, I’ve been on the arse-end of it many times to recognise it when I see it.

See Mr Anderson: 4 hidden messages! I’m over thinking things as usual I know. I can’t help it, its the book, its making me re-assess my perceptions of life and such.

*sigh* I love these types of books.

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Fronti nulla fides

The people that came up with the phrase ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ are actually very clever.

I’m reading this > The Master and Margarita

To say that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew is an understatement. There I was, aimlessly wasting time in a book store, when I felt myself ‘drawn’ to this book. I wouldn’t say ‘drawn’ exactly, it caught my eye because of the funky looking cat and I thought ‘hey, I like cats, how bad could this book be?’ Pfft.

The summary at the back goes like this…
 The devil comes to Moscow wearing a fancy suit. With his disorderly band of accomplices – including a demonic, gun-toting tomcat – he immediately begins to create havoc.

Looks pretty fun doesn’t it. I’m no devil worshipper, but I am a fan of chaos, and as I stated before – cats. Adding to this, I don’t know much about the ‘Moscownians’ so I thought I’d brush up on my post-Stalin hisory and maybe get a few (well educated) laughs. I’ve yet to laugh T.T

On comes page 11: the devil disguised as a foreigner with some really expensive dental bling, mentions ‘Kant’s proof’. I don’t know this Kant person. Off I went to Wikipedia for answers, and all it left me with were more questions.

Observe: ‘His most important work is the Critique of Pure Reason, a critical investigation of reason itself. It encompasses an attack on traditional metaphysics and epistemology, and highlights Kant’s own contribution to these areas.’Metaphysics? Epistemology? Wa?

 

Two hours later… and I still haven’t moved past page 11. There are 564 pages in this book, I have a feeling I’m going to get through it in a year. Maybe after that I’ll take over the world. Or give up trying to make people believe I’m really very intelligent and start my own line of beaded necklaces.

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