WOW Bad Days

And just like that, there I was.

Now you’re probably wondering where I was.

Well, I was between a rock and a harder rock.

I wasn’t sure what to say, that is.

And whenever this professor isn’t sure what to say, he just stares at you like a dumb mouse.

This is a Mouse. Period. Don’t correct me.

(And just for kicks and gurgles…look at this moose…)

Well, anyways and a sum, like I was saying, I was between a rock and a very hard rock…

She looked at me. “Well, well, well?!”

And I said the only thing you can say when you’re being pressured. “I haven’t quite decided yet.”

“Decided?!” she almost shrieked. “You’re not making sense! I asked you, ‘How are you today?’ and you said ‘I haven’t quite decided yet.’ How could you not know how you are?! Hmm?!”

And then I yelled. Just a bit, mind.

“Look here,” I said, “I’m not sure how I am and that’s a valid response. I’m not sure how I am because the world is going a bit nuts at the moment. I’m not sure how I am because I ran into you and I really don’t want to see you at all. In fact, I wouldn’t want to see you if it had been a good day. Imagine how bad it is to see you on a bad day. I merely said I wasn’t sure because I didn’t want to be honest and hurt your feelings and because I didn’t want to label the day bad yet. But you have forced my hand and you have forced me to make up my mind. So here it is in a coconut-shell: I don’t like you, I don’t like this world, and I’m having a really dreadful day. Now, good day.”

As I walked away I considered my use of “now, good day”. It probably should have been have “now, bad day”, huh?

Anyways.

Moral: Bad days are bad days. Accept them. Grow from them. Hate them. And swear plenty.  

 

IT’S ALL LIES

So.

I haven’t died.

I haven’t joined a secret society of awful funnel-cakin’ poets.

I haven’t assassinated a really important tribal leader who is bent on sacrificing his people to some random volcano.

And I haven’t  * I REPEAT HAVEN’T *

…been up to much, really.

I know. Shocking, isn’t it?

You’d think this professor would be up to all sorts of wickedness and dadblamery. And the truth is, it isn’t true.

When you get old, your limbs don’t work the same as they used to.

And I have a special announcement: I don’t have my lower leg limbs.

At least, they’re not working like they used to. So for the last two years, I’ve been sitting on my couch trying to get to a phone to get help.

Alright, you win.

It’s all lies.

The truth is, I’ve been a bit neglectful.

But has it really been two years?

I’m fairly ancient now.

Dadblameit.

ALRIGHT

Up to this point, I haven’t been honest.

At all.

You may be wondering where is the lie and where is the truth.

Mr. Truth walked out on me a long time ago, and it’s all be lies ever since.

And Mr. Lie (the girl above) has taken Mr. Truth’s place.

For years, I have lied to myself that I’m posting on this blog.

For years, I have lied to myself that I’m young and courageous.

For years, I have lied to myself…just in general.

What is the moral to this tale, you may ask?

It’s simple…when you stop to give it a think or two. 

You mustn’t let Mr. Truth walk out on you.

Thank you.

The WORST Thing in the World…!

Okay.

Let’s be honest for a split second. (Not that I’m not honest for every other second, mind.)

What is the worst thing ever?

You might be tempted to say: Why, the worst thing ever is when a baby lizard is brutally murdered by a snapping turtle who feels encroached upon after eating a hearty breakfast and laying in the sun to aid in the digestion process, which is quite finicky to say the least.

This is true, yes, but you’d be wrong.

That’s second.

The first worst thing is getting up early.

Very early.

Like 4am early.

That’s bad.

So, so dadblame bad.

It goes like this:

The alarm rings and you shut it off. After all, how dare it wake you up?!

Alarm clocks don’t look this nice.

It rings 20 minutes later. Well, it was supposed to ring 20 minutes later, but you’re pretty sure it’s only 5. (Imagine a clock that can’t keep time. What’s this world coming to?)

You crank your head up and stare at the clock. It stares back at you.

“Look here,” you try to reason with it, “I don’t really care if I’m late even though I know I have to be there. After all, sleep is more important than anything else…CAN’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!“

The clock shrugs and moves forward a minute.

“Dadblameit, you slug!” you nearly scream. “I need some understanding!”

The insult must make it mad, ’cause it moves 2 whole minutes forward.

“Don’t…please…”

What else is there but to beg now?

Tears begin to flow.

Another minute.

“Fine then, you absurd box with red lights, I’m up!”

And thus begins a day.

It’s an early day.

And you’ve already been ticked off (see what I did there) by your clock.

Btdubs, this is a true story.

Moral: I haven’t thought one up yet.

“You’re Narrow-minded.” HOW DARE YOU

“Maybe you’re just narrow-minded.”

She said it bluntly, it was so blunt. So blunt.

Not that I minded, of course. The professor never minds.

But it did throw off my groove, if I’m completely honest.

Yes, the professor usually functions in some sort of groove.

Now, here’s the thing, you see: It’s not that I was insulted, it’s just that I wasn’t sure what to say.

Previously, the professor had been winning the war of words.

But the line she delivered was a sinker.

I had to act and act fast.

So, I said the only thing I could think of:

“What was that?”

She sighed, gave me a look of annoyance, put her hands on her hips, and said: “I SAID, if you think you’re always right, you’re probably a bit narrow-minded.”

And then the words I needed came to me in a gust of inspiration.

I was searching for a gif to put there and this is what popped up. I completely agree with this statement.

“Look here,” I began, “firstly first, I’m always right because if I wasn’t right for one split second, why then I’d be wrong, and if I was wrong, why then it would mean I wasn’t right, and how could that possibly be the case when we just all agreed that I was right when I’m right which is pretty much all the time?”

See what I did there? Lots of words. I must admit, I said nothing, but it sounded like I said something. Plus–ultra cool–I said that we all just agreed on what I said, which included her.

That caught her up nice and fluffy.

“But…but…” she said.

I said nothing. #professorwins

“But you might be narrow-minded, then.”

“Then we all probably are, since we all just agreed I’m usually right.”

Moral: If you’re ever not sure what to say, say it all and say it quick.

Why Jumping is Overrated

So…okay, this is rather a brutal thing to say, but you know this professor: I can’t help myself.

See, sometimes it’s best to be brutal: You get out what you need to say and you don’t have long thinks about it and end up changing your mind.

Have you ever been in a situation where you were quite happy and quite frustrated at once? A situation where you were relieved but pretty badly annoyed?

Let me explain.

You see, I had been searching all over for this gym bag. It was a red, Under Armour gym bag, to be precise.

Aha. This be the brute.

Then, wonders of wonders, I found it! (It was in the last store I checked, too. How’s that for a dadblamery?)

Thus, this professor was extremely overjoyed, having found the bag.

BUT.

And this is a big but.

The bag was wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy way way way way at the top of a shelf, far out of my reach.

So it was a sticky wicket.

Now, there was a fellow about who worked there, but he was far off, leaning on a table, staring this professor’s way.

Yes, he was taunting me.

“You can’t get the bag,” he seemed to be saying.

“That might be,” I seemed to be saying back, “but watch how I end up getting it.”

I’ll be honest right away.

The jumping didn’t work.

Gosh. I hope I didn’t look like that.

Up to this point in my life, I must admit I thought I was a rather good jumper. You know how it is. You fancy you can do something well, you even take pride in thinking that you can, but the fact is you’ve just never really tried.

So now we all know I can’t jump.

DADBLAMEIT. You know what…? Forget I even mentioned that…

After my jumping attempts failed (just because my ankle was rather sore that day) I moved on to a better solution: a hockey stick.

You see, one glance in the fellow’s direction proved that he was still leaning on the table. But there was a smug look on his face after the attempted jumps. (Dadblame that sore ankle, right?)

But once I returned with the hockey stick…

Ah, he stood up then…

…and watched the professor fetch his bag.

Moral: You don’t need to jump when you have a hockey stick.