Flowers and Gumdrops

Greetings, fair readers! The only reason I'm writing this is that I cannot bring myself to leave my room right now because the toilet won't stop flushing and I have become frightened. However, with the door closed and   Tell It To My Heart cranked up, I can pretend like nothing is broken.

This week I attended all of the classes for which I am registered AND stayed awake through them all. A herculean effort on my part for which I humbly accept your awe and praise. To congratulate myself, I'm going to do an even more self-indulgent post than usual. In this post, I shall enumerate all those things I find detestable in the world. Or at least the first ones that come to mind until I get bored and/or have to leave. Here we go:


Tourists who think that it is okay to use an iPad to take photos. This is unacceptable behavior. I'm not the most magnanimous of men (this one's for you, Mr. Garrett. I do remember sophomore year! Also, sorry that at the time I thought it was appropriate to end a creative retelling of an Arthurian legend with Lancelot dying through autoerotic asphyxiation. I was a show pony back then...I mean, I'm still one now but the lines are more clearly drawn. Still, you handled it very well, and for that I thank you. I also remember you have some story about cheese in Paris or something) to begin with (do you like how I continued my thought from before the parenthetical? Raise your hand if you didn't need to go back to the beginning!) but people standing around landmarks or, worse, simply taking candid I'm-in-Paris-and-this-is-a-Parisian-street shots with their tablets make me wish I owned a harpoon. I mean, I want a harpoon in any case, but that's another story. A short story: once upon a time, my mother gave birth to a violent and sadistic me. Retournons à nos moutons: anyone planning on traveling in the near future should be advised that, as soon as I get the money, I am going to retain an army of gypsy thieves whose will be tasked solely with the robbery and battery of assholes who document their vacation on their iPad. It's what you deserve for such a flagrant display of wealth and lack of common sense.

Another thing that makes me angry are those worthless sacks of skin and perseverance that play music or, if you're really unlucky, sing while you're on the metro. Every time a filthy old man (or, in one case, a rather well-endowed young prostitute--I mean womyn), walks on my car with an accordion or a microphone, I feel like I've lost Russian Roulette without the good fortune of having been able to die. No one likes your music. No one wants to give you money. There is a special circle of hell reserved for you people, who choose the most inopportune moment to decide to share your lack of talent with the world. It's not just that they're not generally very good at what they do. It's that a metro car already filled with the sound of screaming metal becomes a tool the Inquisition would envy when filled with their special brand of cacophony. Again, when I am rich and God, I will have an army of lepers force feed these people their own limbs. Covered, of course, in hot sauce. As an addendum to this, I also hate you, man selling roses outside of nightclubs. I didn't want any the first time you asked me, I didn't want any the second time you asked me, and the five minutes you spent literally staring at me with what I think you think are puppy dog eyes but are actually just limpid brown pools sitting on the flabby marsh of your ugly face did absolutely nothing to convince me to purchase your wares. And the next day, when I passed by in daylight (read: sunlight), I DID NOT NEED AN UMBRELLA. AND I AM NOT "CLUB BOY". YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO ADDRESS ME HEATHEN!


A final thing I hate is time. There is not enough of it. Specifically, there is not enough time to sleep for twenty-five hours a day. I am a man of inertia: when I am at rest, I wish to stay at rest. It is for this exact reason that I am so excited for the day I get my coffin.

Just kidding friends. France is great and I hope you are too! Leave comments.