What about that episode where Beakman made the rat and the girl fight to the death for his pleasure?
Good Lord, John! You people going back to school makes me feel ancient. I'm going to crawl back into my subterranean cave of slumber, from which I will emerge again in a few aeons' time, when the flavor of humanity's pride again wafts across my tongue, and I hunger once more
I want to go back to school! Fuck. Well, I don't really want to go back to school. But I don't want to go to work anymore. I should be a stay-at-home mom. But without the kids.
I took the godforsaken GRE. The questions alternated between stupidly easy and spine-crackingly hard. There were vocabulary words I've never heard of, and I live a cloistered life in a pile of books, popping out occasionally to get drunk and fall off Andy's and Ryan's deck. There were also math questions that beat me, mutilated me with a fire poker, carved their initials into my back with shards of broken IBC bottles.
There were headphones and earplugs. You get your choice. Most of the people in the testing room were headphoned or plugged, but I felt too much like I'd be flying a helicopter, and I put that shit down.
The hardest thing was the fucking amateur hour word processer. Half the GRE is writing—-one essay and one critical response to an essay—-and the GRE's computers do not use MS Word. They don't use Works. They don't even use anything as advanced as Wordpad. When you write your GRE essays you use a blank square of screen that . . . well, it can't do anything. No underlining, so when you want to list the title of a book or movie you have to use that damned _thing_. No italics, either. No font or size options. You have to punch out your thoughts in something like 15 Arial, which is terrible. I can only write in 10. And with a small screen. Having big words that take up a tenth of the screen gets me confused and disoriented, like I'm trying to assemble a card house one card at a time, with no larger picture.
. . .
John . . . poor, poor John. And your back to schoolness. Everyone's going back to school. I really do hate that I'm stuck here working for the devil government instead of learning with all the cool kids at cool school being cool and drinking cool juice. Maybe we could do something this week before John is again made into academia's bitch? I'm guessing you're with the one they call Christine this weekend?
Curses!
I guess we'll just have Beakman & Beer night without you.
Ryan, don't forget to pick up that Beakman DVD.
I want to go back to school! Fuck. Well, I don't really want to go back to school. But I don't want to go to work anymore. I should be a stay-at-home mom. But without the kids.
I took the godforsaken GRE. The questions alternated between stupidly easy and spine-crackingly hard. There were vocabulary words I've never heard of, and I live a cloistered life in a pile of books, popping out occasionally to get drunk and fall off Andy's and Ryan's deck. There were also math questions that beat me, mutilated me with a fire poker, carved their initials into my back with shards of broken IBC bottles.
There were headphones and earplugs. You get your choice. Most of the people in the testing room were headphoned or plugged, but I felt too much like I'd be flying a helicopter, and I put that shit down.
The hardest thing was the fucking amateur hour word processer. Half the GRE is writing—-one essay and one critical response to an essay—-and the GRE's computers do not use MS Word. They don't use Works. They don't even use anything as advanced as Wordpad. When you write your GRE essays you use a blank square of screen that . . . well, it can't do anything. No underlining, so when you want to list the title of a book or movie you have to use that damned _thing_. No italics, either. No font or size options. You have to punch out your thoughts in something like 15 Arial, which is terrible. I can only write in 10. And with a small screen. Having big words that take up a tenth of the screen gets me confused and disoriented, like I'm trying to assemble a card house one card at a time, with no larger picture.
. . .
John . . . poor, poor John. And your back to schoolness. Everyone's going back to school. I really do hate that I'm stuck here working for the devil government instead of learning with all the cool kids at cool school being cool and drinking cool juice. Maybe we could do something this week before John is again made into academia's bitch? I'm guessing you're with the one they call Christine this weekend?
Curses!
I guess we'll just have Beakman & Beer night without you.
Ryan, don't forget to pick up that Beakman DVD.
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