Fuck You, Clock!

People lose at chess because of mistakes. I usually want to play again right away to improve and clear my system of said mistakes. My loss to the clock tonight was one that makes me second guess whether or not I should pursue chess as a realistic hobby.

The clock is so good, it even captured my six-sided die...?

After whomping me, the clock yelled, "I want the champ! I want Phil!" I told the clock that Phil rarely engages in matches that jeopardize his title. But it kept on chanting, "I want Phil! I want Phil!"

I asked what Clubber Clock predicts would happen in a match against Phil. It simply replied, "Pain."

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Midnight Office Tuesday: There was much grading. There was much rocking. There were fewer NCJs, but I'm now on a waving basis with a particularly grizzled maintenence man. If these MOMs and MOTs keep up, soon he and I will be hanging out in some boiler room deep in the bowels of Armstrong Hall, sharing our Schlitzes and dreams.

Desk Djembé has seen a lot of rocking the last few weeks. All that sweat and power built up into a film of stickiness, evidence of many-a-paradiddle-flamaque. So I gave 'er a bath. Look at that shine! As you can see, the shine was so bright that Brawnson's flower bent its stem-neck in the direction of Desk Djembé's pseudo photosynthetic radiation. The mistaken carnation thought the sun had risen in AH210.


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In Other Not-So-Surprising News: In addition to being a recovering Reese's Whore, I am also Nintendo's Bitch. I went to the bookstore today to buy new pens. What unmistakable arrangement of grey, coal, and crimson should catch my eye in the impulse rack at the counter? Nintendo Power Breath Mints--derr! Yes, this is a container of breath mints in the shape of an OG Nintendo controller.

Motherfuckers made breath mints because they know I'm weak. Forfucksakes. I was even wearing my "Nintendo Champion - 1985" jacket when I bought the Nintendo Power Breath Mints. I saw the mints after the clerk girl had rung up my pens. I sighed, so easily defeated, picked up the controller, and asked, "Can I add this?"

She looked at the container, to me, to my jacket, and then back at me. "Suuuuuure."

Satoru Iwata could diarrhea in the slot of an old Zelda cartridge, hand it to me, and tell me the point of this new game was to take a shot of his diarrhea from the slot of an old Zelda cartridge--and I'd respond, "Genius! Must have!"

Who wouldn't drink that his happy poo?

Mace...out