Deviant Dispatches

*Written throughout my freshman year, 2003-2004. Most of these lessons were, of course, learned the hard way.* 1. Cream of mushroom soup turns fuzzy green and red after four weeks in the fridge. 2. The secret ingredient in gummi fruit snacks is crack . 3. You can get bruised when someone bites you. (I don't think this was the situation most of my friends know about... I think that was sophomore year.) 4. Pants with lyrics written on them make a good conversation piece. 5. Gravity works. 6. If you need to hand-write six pages of essay quiestions for a mid-term and have tendonitis, wear the brace. 7. If your class is 1/4 mile from your room, make sure you have everything you need before you leave. 8. Don't eat cafeteria cottage cheese. 9. It is a bad idea to pour boiling ramen water on your fingers the week before a concert. Or, you know, ever. 10. Oatmeal is a good, cheap breakfast food. Also lunch, dinner, or snack food. 11. Wear flip-flops in the shower, not slippers. 12. Gett...

This is a poem from after my writing started to improve in college. Yes, I wrote plenty of poetry in high school, and some of it was okay. But most of it was bad teen poetry (BTP), and luckily, I was cured of this affliction (I think). If you or someone you love has BTP, please head to the nearest library and read, read, read. And please, don't ever write about how your life is like a black hole. Homage to My Butt My butt goes out and decides not to return. Little clump of fat, wandering ill-lit streets, searching for a dry muskrat den of its own. The toilet seat, the sunk-in couch, a scrap of celestial rug, even granny panties. We all confer, in shambles, hoping to suck it back home though I am most alone now. No butt to call my own, no way to sit or dance or fall flat on my ass which went out for a smoke and hitchhiked to Montana. I hope some dumb goat eats it.

As you all probably know, I like to buck the system from time to time. I especially enjoy this when it comes to a certain heart-infested holiday used to force consumers into purchasing as many obnoxiously sweet gifts as their little pocketbooks can afford. So one year, I cut various organs out of construction paper and wrote these little diddies on them. And they were my Valentine's cards. Written on kidneys Roses are red Violets are blue I give vital organs To no one but you! Roses are red Violets are not My heart is beating My kidney was not. Roses are red Violets are blue Who needs two kidneys? I'll give one to you! Roses are red I like my heart It's very nice And my kidney is not. (The above kidney was drawn to have an eye patch and a knife.) Roses are red Violets are stupid Here is my kidney Instead of a cupid. Written on spleens Roses are red Grapes can be green I'm using my heart So here is my spleen! Roses are red You need a joint I need a heart But a spleen has...

This is from my last semester of college at Ripon, when I was training for a half marathon through a psych class called "Topics in Motivation." I will admit, I am very prone to bouts of stupidity. Often, I accidentally do the wrong homework assignment, interpret clear things incorrectly, and say ridiculous things. But this time, I went too far. Literally. I went too far. Today was supposed to be my first five-mile run in training for the half-marathon. Considering that last week's four-mile run ended up being not quite four miles, I was a bit apprehensive, but excited to break another of my running records. So I measured the mileage with my car last night, in the dark. I decided to run my usual two-mile loop and then go on a nice three-mile excursion, just outside of Ripon. Mind you, I've never seen this intersection in the daylight. There's a delightfully intimidating hill before this intersection as well. Intelligent as I am at times, I decided to run my new r...

Dear Cthulhu, I'm a big fan of your work. It's most pleasant to know that someday, all the horrible things and people of this world will meet their demise at your horrific tentacles and will disturb me no longer. Even if I also succumb to your madness, it shall be with great pleasure if I can watch my enemies crumble before I go. However, I'd like to call in one teensy little favor: Will you please devour all of my maintenance records and bills at Teh Big Yellow Repair Shop of Doom and Teh Evil Credit Card Companies? See, I owe $2,000 for the work recently completed on my new-to-me car's suspension system, wheels, and transmission. And as I already have no job, no place to live, and hardly any money, I'd rather not have to pay that too. The Great New Mexican Trial of Pain and Fury is only just beginning. I know you've got a pretty bad headache right now, but if it is within your mighty doom-filled tentacles to grant me amnesty from this terrible evil, I would de...