“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.

Oranges are orange; Yellows are…

Okay.

So, there’s this problem, see.

And I can’t understand it for the life of me, double-see.

You must help me out, PF.

Here it is.

I present to you the color orange:

And, here’s an orange:

Further, I present the color yellow:

And that, my fellows, right up there, is a yellow, right? No!

See, it’s a lemon not a yellow.

Where’s the sense in that, I ask?

Where?!

It leaves me bewildered and confused, in truth.

What will aliens think when they get to earth and learn of such things?

Dadblameit.

TPL’s Birthday (The Professor Appears)

So, happy birthday, everyone.

You see, it’s TPL’s 3rd birthday.

My.

I thought it was older, but it isn’t.

It’s only 3.

Feels like I’ve known all you awesome folks for well over 50 years.

We’re all very old.

Let’s just accept it.

It’s great to be old.

Anyways and some.

Everyone always thinks this professor has a long gray or white beard.

I don’t.

You should know this.

After all, we’ve known each other long enough.

Also, t-shirts can be dressy.

I’ll prove it.

Many loves, kisses, and hugs to you all!

*goes out to eat cake*

You’ll each get a piece.

Oh, The Last Samurai soundtrack might make me cry. Forget I said that.

So, yeah, there was supposed to be a video here…but I haven’t time. I must go play oboe in a pit of snakes.

See you soon, loves.

PVJ

The Professor is Rowdy, T-Shirts, and Ties…

The professor is feeling very rowdy.

I tell you this plainly, just because such plain things should be plain.

If a plain thing is not plain (like a plain bagel, for instance) it has no right being plain.

Now, I’m rowdy.

Cause I’ve been thinking about this thingy, and you must let me know if I’m thinking rather right.

If a fellow is wearing a t-shirt…is he being classy?

Now, I’m not at all sure what classy is. But is he?

Probably not, I’d say, probably not.

Now, but what if he puts a tie on over the t-shirt?

Ah, instant class.

This is the professor’s theory.

Do you suppose I’m right?

Ah, pure class.

At a Birthday Party, Blood Diets, and Old Fellows

So, the professor was having a seat.

Well, I mean, I was sitting. I wonder why it can’t be said ‘having a seat’?

Dadblameit!

It can, I’ve decided, the sudden.

Let’s start again:

The professor was having a seat. Period.

I was at this table with a few other chaps.

It was an old fellow’s birthday party, see. He was turning 95-years-old. That’s rather old, you must admit. Old enough to grow a beard.

Anyways and some, the professor was at the worthless table.

You know what I mean, I’m thinking.

At parties–big parties–there is always a table or a few that get filled by people no one wants to have speaks with.

That’s where I was sat. Well, not really. That’s where this professor sat, since it was the only free place left about, see.

Now, here’s the thing: Dinner conversations can be interesting.

Or even scary.

So, this professor, to play it safe, started things:

“Do you suppose we’ll get any cake?”

“Probably, probably,” the guy across from me said. “Now, look, did you all know there is this thing called a blood diet?”

“What in the world?” one girl said.

“Yes, yes,” the guy said, flopping his bangs around like water sloshes in a cup of wax and noodles. “It’s a diet…based on what blood type you are. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Horrifying, you mean,” another girl said.

“No, no!” the guy said. “Not at all. See…”

And that’s when this professor interrupted. Time to change the subject, see.

“Do you suppose we’ll get any of the cake?”

“Who cares about that?” the guy said. “Listen, according to this blood diet–”

“I can’t take it anymore!!” another guy said. He had a pointy nose. “Stop talking about the bloody blood diet! NOW!”

And he rose swiftly, crashing his chair back. The party sorta stopped.

We never got any cake.

Moral: Don’t have speaks about blood diets, and you’ll get some cake.