A Few Paragraphs on Some Random Topics

I’ve decided that my attention span is so short that I can’t actually write approximately 800 words on any one topic. So, instead of writing on semi-related topics and badly joining them together with opening and closing transition sentences, I’ve decided to write about two random topics, dedicating a paragraph to each. Or rather, several paragraphs each, after my editors are done with it. Or maybe they’ll be done with that last sentence and this one as well.

You see, the problem with writing one big paragraph, which I like to do, is that it looks like crap. And then you have to take into consideration that it’s a column. The very definition of a column is something that’s not very wide and rather skinny. And skinny text looks even longer when you print it in newspapers, because they print your words in columns. No one likes to read long strings of crap, but I suppose you do if you’ve gotten this far. But as I was saying, I’m writing on two topics. They are alarm clocks and Black Mountain Road, and they have nothing to do with each other.

I hate alarm clocks. I have two in my room, and one on my cell phone. An interesting fact is that neither of the alarm clocks in my room are mine. They both belong to my girlfriend, and I’m holding on to all of her crap while she’s in Spain. My room is like Public Storage, but with lower monthly payments.

The one on my desk is what I fondly refer to as “”the loud piece of crap.”” It has a nice, big, red LED and it’s louder than any alarm clock I’ve ever heard in my life. It sounds like a smoke detector.

And the other alarm clock, the one on my bedside table, is a Powerpuff Girls alarm clock. Let me stress again that this is my girlfriend’s alarm clock. I think the fact that it is my girlfriend’s alarm clock counters the blatant homosexual implications of having it on my bedside table.

Regardless, on regular nights, I set the loud piece of crap for around noon. I have class 1:25-ish, but I take long showers, which might imply that I masturbate in the shower, but I find that rather cold and uncomfortable. I find that places to masturbate are a lot like places to have sex — beds seem to be the best.

On irregular nights — let’s say I have a lab at 9 a.m. — I’ll set the Powerpuff Girls clock for 7:30 a.m., the loud piece of crap for 7:45 a.m., and my cell phone for 8:40 a.m. This is what happens the next day: A quiet buzzing will emit from the Powerpuff Girls clock, I’ll wake up, laugh at the ridiculous thought of waking up at such an absurd hour, and turn it off. Then, around 7:45 a.m., a loud, piercing sound will go off, my eyes will shoot open, and I’ll get out of bed, walk over to it and hit snooze. 7:55 a.m.: Repeat, adding profanity. 8:05 a.m.: Similar, coincidentally, to 7:55 a.m., but with even more profanity. The process repeats until 8:25 a.m., when I get sick of the whole process and just turn it off. Then, at 8:40 a.m. my cell phone goes off, I yell some expletives, grab my keys and try to cut off enough people on Genessee to get to class on time.

Once I hit campus, I pretty much assume that all driving laws are null and void. Stop signs are optional. I always have the right of way, much like a pedestrian, but in a moving car. Really, I could shorten the whole procedure and extend my sleeping time by at least 20 minutes by just setting my cell phone alarm, but that all seems pretty damn pessimistic, if you ask me.

Black Mountain Road doesn’t have a lot going for it. It’s the other road we never talk about. It’s not “”don’t go down that road”” bad, but it’s not exactly Nobel, either. Nobel has a lot going for it: Tower Records, Ralph’s, Jamba Juice, apartment complexes and UPS drop-off locations.

Black Mountain Road has street races and drug dealers. That’s right, I actually made a drug deal on Black Mountain Road. It was a real pain in the ass, because whenever you needed drugs you had to drive all the way out into the middle of nowhere.

It really paid to buy in bulk after the first couple of times. But then you’d forget to buy in bulk, because you were smoking weed, and when you remembered, you’d buy weed in bulk. It was sort of a Catch-22.

On the plus side, there’s a really good Indian place on Black Mountain Road, so if you time it right, you could be a part of a street race, smoke a lot of weed, and then eat the buffet at the Indian place.

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