Posts Tagged 'TPL'

Late Because Not My Fault

The professor is a patient person.

Usually.

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

160209115236-24-mong-kok-riot-0209-exlarge-169

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.

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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.

Classroom Mayhem

“So…”–gigantic, and I mean huge, pause for emphasis here–“how do we know what we know?”

The question hung in the air, and this professor, for one, would’ve left it hanging there (probably indefinitely) but an elderly chap sitting next to me raised his hand and spoke up.

He said something full of dadblamery, so I had to raise my hand and say:

“We know what we know because we know it.”

A just answer. Maybe a bit oblique, but then again, so was the question. I leaned back like a conqueror, thinking that I had won, and that it was over.

But a war was coming.

The chap teaching the class shook his head.

“No, no, you can’t answer that way,” he said. “They were the words I used in my question.”

“Quite right,” I said, “that’s why I rearranged them for my answer.”

“No.” He was a bit stern here, I must admit. Hands on hips, chin jutting out in my direction like a stag beetle with it’s great big jaws. “You don’t get it.”

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

“Oh I get it.”

Of course, this professor didn’t mean to be spicy at all, but the other students laughed here a bit, bits, and little bits.

“You. Don’t. Get It,” he repeated. “I want you to use your own words to answer the question.”

And then this professor spied something on his shoulder, and I knew I’d won.

“They became my own words once I rearranged them, see. And furthermore, double see, is that a hornet on your shoulder?”

He screamed, everyone laughed, and this professor–shiny, cunning beast that he is–won.

#conqueror 

Chatroom, Elbows & a Red Footed Booby

So, here’s the thing that just bounced to mind, the sudden, like an olive bouncing from a salad to the floor.

(No one likes olives, aways, see.)

TPL has a chatroom.

Screen Shot 2016-04-28 at 9.39.57 AM

Screen Shot 2016-04-28 at 9.35.43 AM

An official chatroom! This makes me feel sorta proud, not sure why.

Now, the sad thing is this: TPL has had a chatroom for some time. But I’d forgotten about it. We really must schedule a chat sometime. The difficulty is, see, scheduling a chat that everyone can get in. What with time zone differences and all.

It’s so vexing. Help! I’ve got no idea how to run a chatroom.

In other news, the professor nearly broke his arm.

I probably told you this.

I’m making it sound way more exciting than it really is.

Elbow's are so weak.

Elbow’s are so weak.

Also in the professorish news:

If I was a bird…this would be me, yo:

Red Footed Booby

Red Footed Booby

What Should The Professor Do?

So, the professor has been under attack recently.

And I’m running.

Usually I fight.

But I decided to run, just because.

Of course, I shouldn’t run.

3MaMf

There’s something cool about this.

I should fight.

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There is a groin shot here.

So, anyways, you see, this is what’s been happening.

People are trying to play matchmaker with the professor, and it’s quite a vexing thing.

See, this is my philosophy on the matter: They see a perfectly dastardly professor who is heartless, filthy, and mean, and they want to change that. So, they try to get him matched up with a girl.

But this won’t work, see. You can’t change the fact that I’m heartless.

Still, it’s like being under attack.

This is what a matchmaker looks like. Goodness.

This is what a matchmaker looks like. Goodness.

So, the professor must either hide or go to war.

What should I do?

I think I’ll get violent and throw a revolution.

Would you like to join?

Yo.


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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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