Housing Benediction
Oops, I promised no more Pope posts and I'm holding to that, despite the title of this being somewhat referential.
Housing Day is coming like a freight train and Schnocone and I only have a 50% chance of getting two singles and a common room. If, by chance, we get stuck with a bullshit room, I'm immediately blaming Schnocone for totally killing my years of good housing karma with his semester as dictator of B-24, including royally pissing off Otto and harassing the housing tutor into maintaining his tyrannical grip of the fiefdom. So be prepared for the wrath of Bacchus should we get shit on in this coming lottery.
So in this blog, I'm attempting to clear the air of all bad spirits, calling for a jubilee, a cleansing of past wrongs, penitence for the sins of my roommate, and absolution for any noise disturbances I may have made in H-11 or B-24 through party noises or guitar discourteousness, and also asking for forgiveness for any wrongs Schnocone DEFINITELY has made in his time alone in the room. I ask the better angels of Lily Piper's swift right hand to pick our number out of the thermos of destiny with one swift motion, placing us in the room to be desired, vanquishing our foes and putting us up into duumvirate that will truly rock the gartered socks of the all-too-staid reputation of Adams House.
Seriously, Schnocone, if we get a bad room, it is in every way your fault. IN EVERY WAY. I've never had a bad room and I don't intend to start now. Your head's on the chopping block, get ready for the ax to fall.
I have an interview today for a tutoring position in Mallorca which means I'd be living in luxury, on an island, summering (as they say in New England), PAID ($15/hr for 2-4 hours a day), until August 15. Whose life am I living, exactly? Oh right, chickens, not hatched, blah.
Coming Soon on Bacchus Americanus: Bullfights, Bullfights, Bullfights, and other dead animals in Spain.
posted by Bacchus Americanus @ 6:58 AM
1 comments
1 Comments:
Bullshit. You'll do no such thing. What I do allow you is the privilege of kissing the hem of whatever garment I happen to be wearing for dealing with all your bullshit paperwork while I'm away. You should thank you lucky stars you have me. If there's any blame, it's on your head for abandoning me and reducing our luck quotient back to my original levels. With my luck, I fully expect RPY III to float into our room or some other nonsense. Further, I have been an angel in my room. I went out with Bridget, Joe and Lindsi every night to keep the noise levels down during the week, with serious personal financial consequences. Blame Boston, if you must, for having bullshit bars that don't stay open past one or two.
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