Jive

So our Team Black class has whipped us all into a terror of a fury. For two weeks now, our professor has told us that he'd "Double Check" on the time of the final, and for two weeks we have been served a cold cut sandwich of disappointment with no mustard or mayo or nothin'. And today, the last day of class, justice was finally demanded, and it was received. We learned that our final was Tuesday. But wait! There's more! Halfway through a clip of a movie we were viewing we noticed the TA changing the time to Monday, a very bold move. He even had the balls to not point it out to us. Well, I shouldn't say us, I was alerted quite readily when he was scribbling hieroglyphics up on the board, words and numbers so rare and extinct that I could barely believe my eyes (an actual final time). He didn't point it out to the incompetent, which would be the other 90% of the class that didn't have the luxury of sitting in the front row while pussing out while sitting next to a beautiful Hollandish girl who then later on in class proceeded to badmouth America by calling it lazy and some aspects of it "half-assed", and basically derailing Cabela's Outlet as pointless. Now I don't know about y'all, but that there's a pretty ripe sentence for gettin' yerself sent ter Azkerban or wherever they send them crazy fools these days, Guantenero or something. I'd say she  pretty much up and declared herself a terrorist by committin' those words to the air.
     Other things: I went to the gym today, and therefore those 30 minutes of semi-non-intense exercise justified the glorious bowl of dairy and chocolate-laden sex that I consumed not too long ago. I am indeed referring to ice cream. By the way, Ben and Jerry's is some amazing freaking ice cream. I think I've mentioned it before, but I just wanted to mention it again. I was born and raised on it. Hell, my parents even honeymooned 'round those parts. I even took a detour out of my college visit on the east coast to see the factory. You could call it a Mecca of sorts. And with all Meccas, there's got to be a holy book. This book folks, is this: . This stuff will make you pick up more chicks than a forklift, and that's a hell of a lot of women. I've made countless recipes from this bible, and they all equal another step closer to heaven (or hell, however you see it).
     Last night I made no-bakes, and actually competed against a duo of man's counterpart: woman. We went our separate ways, me adding Ferrero Nutella 26.5oz. Jar to my repertoire of star-studded ingredients. Lest we say that mine were obviously much more delicious, and therefore a contest had to be held to confirm the women's baking inferiority. I titled the voting sheet: No-bake vs. Bro-Bake. Clever, I know. Ego-boosting? Check. Still waiting to see the results of that battle, but it's pretty safe to say who's superior.
     Finals are coming up next week, which basically means the final trip of your soul into nothingness as you waste away countless hours studying before given three months to recover and try and pick up what pieces are left of you, literal and figurative. This has been a great trip so far though, I've got to hand it to college. There's been no better time in my life so far. It's about time to lay down a sack of Z's (go to bed) before my comedic presence grows ice (gets cold). Give me five on the black hand side y'all! Peace.