Your Tandy

Last night I set out in search of Cricket's old drawing featuring Andy's cursed eBay shirt but quickly gave up once the Attic Apartment wrapped me in its fiendish web of nostalgia. The only good thing that came out of it was an inspiration to take up Herodotus where I'd left the damn thing like four years ago, in the dust outside some city where the men had dressed as women and invited the enemy into their palace and then slit their throats when everyone was blind with Sauza and lust. I had snapped a bigass binder clip in as a bookmark and that fucker was still there hooray.

 

A while ago the school offered me double donuts to take over a Wednesday night comp II course that was so bad the teacher quit fifteen minutes into the seventh week. Really it wasn't so bad but I am electrified thinking of the thing ending in three days. Jep. Now I just need a final. I'm leaning toward the text-based adventure framework:

 

            YOU WALK INTO YOUR BEDROOM AND YOUR TANDY DISPLAYS A RESEARCH PAPER EXACTLY LIKE THE ONE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TURN IN FOUR WEEKS AGO. DO YOU PLAGIARIZE IT?

 

y / n / help what is plagiarism

 

YOU TURN IN THE PAPER BUT THE INSTRUCTOR NOTICES THE OBSCENE BIFURCATION OF YOUR LANGUAGE WHEN IT GOES FROM FEVERED GIBBERISH TO PROFOUND AND LYRICAL. ALSO, YOU SEE NOW YOU FORGOT TO CHANGE THE FONT AFTER COPY-PASTING.

 

write a new paper / back to google

 

In Minneapolis you could waltz into any corner Rainbow market and sniff out the bakery case and remove a plastic box of polar bars and fuck, those things were delicious. They were so good. I have searched the internet for a recipe and found nothing but imposters to the name and drawings of white bears sledding through the Arctic. Slap this food item on the list of things I would devour were I to return to the Midwest. It is far below the flying (fighting?) burrito, but still—it's there.