Poppycock!
12:11 p.m.
This person and I were fooling around on his bed, a single bed--I was in my red bathrobe and flannelette pyjamas (not the kind of thing you would imagine for an illicit tryst at all) and he was in something similar--and I was getting very excited, when the cleaning lady (who resembled the landlord’s daughter Ursula a great deal in the most recent Spidey movie) came in and began tidying up (the place was a mess, I must admit). I tried to tell my paramour to shoo her out, but he said no, it was all right, and proceeded to play video games on his computer while I sat there, frustrated, waiting for her to finish her cleaning so we could resume our erotic play. I think it was during that endless ménage when I woke up. I tried desperately to resume my slumber so we could pick up where we’d left off, but, alas, it was not to be.
My college student performed her jury this morning and didn’t do too badly, considering she was so nervous she could barely keep any breath for more than a couple of measures at a time. I handed in my mark for her and I’m now free of academic pressures until fall.
There was a very funny article in the paper this morning which points out how paranoid Americans can be when it comes to “national security”. In 2004, the Canadian mint issued 30 million quarters with a red poppy in their centre:
Apparently members of the U.S. Defence Department thought they were hiding wireless transmitters and were “spy coins”. You have to read it yourself. It’s just too funny.
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