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.

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Girls Can’t Bow

So, I won’t lie.

I never do, you know.

Well, that’s not true.

See, sometimes I lie, other times I don’t. It’s a consternation, but it can’t be helped.

That’s why I always say: “I lie every other day.”

Anyways, I must tell you something that’s rather hurtful, and I def can’t lie about it.

Here it is:

Girls can’t bow.

That’s not to say they don’t want to, but it’s just an impossibility. What happens when they try isn’t a bow, see. We can’t go redefining words, after all. (For example, you wouldn’t call a crocodile a lizard if he was stunted in the growth department, would you? Of course not. Likewise, we can’t call a not-bow a bow.)

What's the difference between a bow a bough and a bow? Never mind. That's neither here nor over there.

So, to back up my hypothesis, I must now needs present proof. (All good professor do such things, see. And I’m a good professor, double-see.)

What better way to prove a point than using our dear friend Mr. Google.

Here’s what I found after a quick google; I scanned nearly 642,000 results, btdubs.

And these images were the best that the ladies had to offer.

Proof #1

I mean, this is so far from a bow that I win right away. No problem; no battle; no skin from my lobes.

Proof #2 & #3

A hand spin is not bowing.

Proof #4

This one was closest to a bow…but for a bow to be legit, you really can’t speak and bow at the same time. Therefore, I win.

And I didn’t tell a lie.

And girls can’t bow.

And that’s the end.

Late Because Not My Fault

The professor is a patient person.

Usually.

Sometimes, I’m not, and that’s when I riot. #riotingisfun

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A picture of me after rioting.

But, anyways and some, I pushed the elevator button, because I had to go up, after all.

Just up a floor, mind.

And I had to get there within three minutes. Not a problem.

Sadly, that’s when it all went south, like a buffalo running down a hill who loses control and starts to tumble.

jumpingbuffalo-yellowstonenationalp

You see, that’s when the hallway became packed with so many people, I feared–the sudden–for my oxygen supply.

Then there was a ding, and the elevator opened.

It was going down, not up.

“Dadblameit!” I cussed.

“That’s not going to help anything,” a girl next to me, who was also waiting, said.

“What’s not?”

“Cursing. It’s not how you should live your life.”

“But you’re as wrong as wrong can get, because I’m always right. It definitely helps. After all, Mark Twain and John Wayne said it does, and they can’t possibly be wrong.”

This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.

This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.

She raised an eyebrow.

The elevator came again.

And success!

It was going up.

But, rats and a heifer, there was no room.

That’s when the professor glanced at his watch.

Just thirty seconds now.

I ran to the stairs.

And wonders of wonders, can you believe when I arrived at the correct floor, the door to access that floor was handle-less?! No handle. No way to get it.

What made it even worse was the fact that I could see the place where I needed to be through the window.

The professor just couldn’t get there.

So…I rioted.

Riot mode.

Riot mode.

The professor busted down the door with inhuman strength, charged into the nearest room, grabbed the nearest employee, and dragged him back to the door.

“What is wrong with your building, hmm, dadblameit?! Elevator service is awfully awful and there’s no handles on your doors! What is this? A giggle-joke?!”

“I’ll fix it right away, sir!” the fellow said nervously as he shook brutally.

“You better,” I said, relaxing. “Now you’ve gone and made me late.”

“I’ll make it up to you!” He was on his knees know, begging. “Please don’t hurt me!”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “A free lunch? That’s what I require.”

“Yes!! You got it!”

Double-dadblameit. That sounded so good, too.

That’s how I did it in my mind, see.

In reality, I stood there, staring through the door for a good ten minutes, before I decided to try to find another way in.

The professor was late, and there was nothing a soul, or ghost, could do about it.

Important Things

So, yes, it’s Christmas this week.

Like in two days.

Maybe it was nine. I really can’t recall. (Don’t laugh. When you get my age, this sort of thing starts to happen. That’s what I’ve been told, though. How age affects the mind is still a mystery. But it does.)

Now, here’s the thing:

I’ve decided to announce a few things of importance.

First off, the Patriots won the AFC East. Again.

aptopix-dolphins-patr_acco-1024x729

Steelers deflate balls, too.

Second, it’s the season of the Krampus.

krampus

This excites me lots and lots.

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They say the best way to get the Krampus to pay a visit is to insult his brother, Santa Claus.

This doesn’t work.

I’ve tried.

Thirdly, and lastly…

…well, I did have something, but I forget what it was.

I’m old, remember.

Oh I remember!

Merry Christmas, everyone! Make sure to eat a few cookies for me.

Each.

The Professor Returns

Many hi’s to you all! (I’m thinking if that should be “hies”, since it looks better. But that reminds me of pies, and we can’t have pies, so let’s forget about this whole thingy.)

How’ve you all been?! I want details. But not too many. Maybe one or one and a half.

You’ll all be excited and dismayed to know that I’m back. The professor has many awful plans, of course. Plans that I’ve not really spoken about too much yet. Or thought about.

Maybe we shouldn’t even call them plans, actually-ish.

I’ll be getting TPL back online in just a bit…a few days, maybe.

In interesting professor news…I actually taught a class on this book! Well, a chapter from this book.

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And I learned two important things, of course. (I’m always learning things, you know, you know… This goes to show you even old people can learn things.) 

One, I learned how to spell feminist. Yes, I happen to be the worst speller ever. No judging. Or I might get a complex.

And, two, I learned that this professor can counter-lecture other professors quite effectively. It was an interesting debate.

That’s all.

I shall be around with more useless news, of course.

Since it’s around Christmastime, Merry Dadblameits to you all.


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Depends on the day, see.

Punchy Argot:

1. Dadblameit.
2. Humdinger
3. Chickit
4. Chicky-woot-woot
5. Malediction
6. Rapscallion
7. Gardoobled
8. Congratulilolations
9. Togoggin
10. Gargonic
11. Two and Five Gurgles
12. Rats and a Heifer
13. Two nods, a wink, and an astroid
14. A bit, bits, and little bits
15. Huff-Hum and a Roar
16. So many thanks, I can't begin to thank you
17. Ri-do-diculous

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