(A Random Post)

Mondays, boy I hate Mondays – they make me, so steamed. WEEKends, talkin’ ’bout the WEEKend! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh – …yeah, I hate Mondays.

An absolutely bizzare Monday today, one that started with AL having what seemed to be an orgasmic-like joy in filling out the teacher evaluation forms for Narrative class. I mean…sure, this is finally a chance for retribution…but enjoying it that much just seems unnatural. I fear for this woman, despite all the inane, stuttering ramblings she’s forced me to endure (or at least sleep through) this year.

I also failed at Chemistry, being the dickless piece of trash I am. No the course though, surprisingly. (That comes later.) But my crippling irrational fear for of all womankind has allowed this evil harpy to abuse me and steal my notes. And worse of all – make me like it. What can I do!?! She laughs at my jokes like she’s trying to sell me a car with this honey-sweet siren call of a laugh, and a shoulder-touch later – BAM!!! I’m unconscious, lying outside on St. George and Bloor, naked, and noteless. And with the bizzare feeling that I actually came out of that successful.

And a public service announcement – that dude on the subway with the ridiculously old Jays cap, with one eye covered, and who sometimes seems to be looking in your direction? Yeah, word of advice – he is, he’s a pervert, and it’s not old, it’s vintage, bitch. Is it so wrong for me to find girls with ponytails in baseball caps strangely alluring? Is this some sort of disgusting fetish I’ve developed from spending so much time with these fags from MDHS? Or has it been there the whole time, buried in my subconscious (sorry, “unconscious” according to Professor Lucas) and the reason I’ve woke up screaming “CROATOA!!!” in the middle of the night, every night for the last five years?

Still trying to figure out whether it’s sick, sad, or both. Couldn’t really help it – she was wearing a Leafs cap. Spent five minutes wondering whether or not I should just approach her, or go with the ol’ trusty chloroform. And then I spent another five minutes wondering which line I should use – it was between “Hey baby – I’m Stanley. Wanna see my Cup?” and “Hey baby, maybe you should blow your whistle on my high-sticking…ya know wudda mean?” But then I realized (for the second time today) what a dickless piece of trash I was, and she got off.

But then I found a dime on the ground of Finch Station…so overall, I’d have to say it wasn’t too shabby of a Monday.

“It’s a…it’s a Fender.”



Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.



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