Today has been the second most day of the week. It all started this morning, as most days do. So, there I was. Where? There, keep up. I done told you already, stupid. Stop interrupting. Anywho, there I was. My phone started screaming at me, so I made the conscious choice to wake up (always a good choice to make). I got out of bed and put on my clothes. Or somebody else's clothes. Whoever left their clothes in my chair is the person whose clothes I am wearing. At least, they were probably my clothes. I don't remember putting my friend's wallet and keys into my 3-sizes-too-big jeans though. At least, not since he and/or I maxed out his credit card last month. Weird.

Anyway, I angrily kicked down the door and exited my room, casually choke slamming my friend to the floor as I headed for the elevator. I pushed the button and waited for the door to open. When it finally did and I got in, do you know what I saw? Go on. Take a guess. That's right! The inside of an elevator. I pushed a random series of buttons and eventually made it to the first floor, where I exited the hotel.

Upon stepping out into the bright, sunny sunlight, I was taken aback by its shear radiance or something stupid like that. I started slowly strolling to the meeting, twirling my nun-chucks as I skipped merrily along. I soon realized that it was difficult to stroll so slowly while merrily skipping, so I stopped and skipped violently instead. It's kind of like merrily skipping, but a lot more violent, you see.

Eventually, sixteen hours later, I made it to the meeting. The instructor was busy whining about some nonsense, "Stop talking! Sit down! Put your phone away! Put your pants back on! Please, for the love of God, don't shoot!!" Whine, whine, whine. Big baby. I slapped him a couple of times and the session began. Something about integers was said and I left for my next meeting. I decided I would first hit up the McDonald's in the mall for some second breakfast. I got my standard sandwich and fries and complimentary wasp nest and went to pick up my drink. And, oh mon Dieu (pardon my fucking French), them sumbitches didn't have any Passion Fruit Sweet Tea! This obviously enraged me, so I punched a nearby girl right in her dick. She fell to the floor whining about something, "Stop kicking me! Not the face! OH GOD, DON'T PUT THAT IN THERE!!" Whine, whine, whine. Big baby.

After that, with my Passion Fruit Sweet Tea in hand (it was hidden behind a fat chick, lolollol), I left for my next meeting, disposing of my food in the nearest trash receptacle (my mouth). My next meeting was about grass or computers or something lame like that. My instructor was crying in the corner, so I led the meeting for the day, like usual. When I finished filling all the young minds with my massive knowledge and/or genitals, I boarded my submarine and flew quickly into the sky, which is, no doubt, a subtle and witty metaphor for snorting cocaine off of a dead hooker, who I shortly thereafter disposed of in the nearest dumpster (my mouth), and, if you're wondering, the lecture I gave was about run-on sentences and how they're necessary for any good narrative.

I don't remember where I was at and I don't feel like re-reading what I've written, BECAUSE READING IS FOR NERDS. So, I guess I'll conclude, unless I've already done that. I don't really feel like concluding though, so I'm just going to hope I already have and leave it at that.

With love,
Nezeb

P.S. - Pick up 2% milk.

P.P.S. - Actually, make that 98% milk. Why would I waste all that money for just 2% milk?! What a rip off! That's practically water!

P.P.P.S. - Nevermind, I don't want any milk.

Me, bitches!

If you can't pick out what I'm typing, then I'm drunk.