this is my dull life. this is my dull life on drugs. this is a haiku.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Revised schedule

So it's 10:30am. I had this highly motivated plan on the go, which went a'little something.... a'like this:

9am: German History class.
10am: Run at the track for an hour.
11am: Go home and shower and eat.
1pm: Come back to school for a UN Society meeting.
2pm: Do some studying in the library.
5pm: Another UN meeting about CANIMUN.
6pm: Go to Biochemistry Mixer.
8pm: Head to Mandy's for party.

So in short: Work. Work. Work. Work. Work. Work. Drink.

It's regressed into this:

9am: German History class.
10:30am: Go to Biochem Mixer.

Which shortens to: W-Drink.

Since the mixer doesn't technically start until 5, I'm planning on just going to the Breezeway (campus bar) right now, splitting a jug with someone, and depressing the living bejesus out of my pre-frontal cortex. How I'll deal with the UN meetings has yet to be considered...

In other news, Coleman wants me to interview him on my blog. To this, I give an emphatic "Go fuck yourself!". Get your own blog you commie bastard! What -- you think you can just drop yours and be a regular feature on mine? I'm not even a regular feature on mine...

So after the guy has the nerve to ask me to interview him, he redeems himself with a commendable idea: In preparation for the next Conservative government, we should open our own private health care clinic. "But Patrick," you might think, "You and Coleman have no credentials to practice medicine, nor do you own any supplies." True. But what we lack in "qualification", we make up for in enthusiasm and Neo/Polysporin. Ulcers? Here, drink this. Cerebral hemorrhaging, you say? Slap a little Polysporin on your noggin, my friend. And don't worry -- the toast is fine.* Though I'm no doctor, I'm of firm belief that Polysporin can fix everything from crib-death to clamydia.

Or as Coleman and I were saying at the time, we could just open a clinic without any intentions of helping the sick or injured. People would come in, and we'd be there with a barbecue, handing out hotdogs and hamburgers. "Defibrillator? No, but how would your dad like a delicious ballpark frank?" And the best part is, we'd just charge everything to Medicare -- a grand ol' government-subsidized barbecue.

Hmmm... so it's already waaaay past 10:30, so I'd better go find someone to booze around with, if this is actually gonna happen :)

*You might have to be Canadian to get this reference. Oh, Heritage Minutes, how I love thee. Almost as much as Hinterland's Who's Who... Anyone else ever wonder what happened to the Arctic Ptarmigan?