Despite some above-moderate success in life, I've never really had a feeling of accomplishment- just a wave of relief that the task was over. That's my definition of laziness.
Best Drunken Puke Session: My freshman year of college, some of the upper classmen had a suite in the main dorm room building. If it was an awesome suite, it would be spelled "sweet". So, take that into consideration. I don't know what time it was, but it was definitely late- already told a few of my best stories. That usually happened after 2am. A wise senior suggested that drinking beer from the can wasn't the most efficient way to get drunk. He was an Economics major. Funnels were introduced, which weren't, aren't and will never be fun. A freshman girl funnelled three beers- consider three beers via funnel as the women's tee. The men's tee was a few yards back, somewhere near way the fuck more than what she drank. Like most great ideas at 3am, the end result was not what one would have hoped for. Best case scenarios quickly dissipated, but left behind a series of symptoms associated with an alcohol related disaster: soaked shirts, suds burps, Leaning Tower of Pisa positioning, lone rally cry to drink some more, chorus of moans disapproving such an idea, etc. Knowing that puking was inevitable, I made my way to the bathroom, thankful that it was no more than a few feet away. Upon entering one of the two community stalls (for 20+ people), I sat down and locked myself in. Using the elbow on my right arm, I bashed open the toilet paper dispenser and leaned my head against it in order to fall asleep. An hour later, my eyes open and people are banging on the door trying to wake me up. Success. Turns out, some other people were still conscious in the suite and grew worried when I didn't return after 20 minutes. The river of slush like puke seeping from underneath the stall door was a possible starting point. One of the least popular players on the team had to crawl through my V8-esque textured puke to unlock the door from the inside. I was unresponsive. Last thing I remember is being dragged by four or five guys down a flight of stairs and into my bed. I wake up at 9 am the next day refreshed.
When I encourage you to cross the street, while I'm driving, please take note of the physical gesture that is made. Two casually strolling fingers weren't placed on the dashboard, letting you know it's ok to cross at a snail's pace. It was a quick gesture- more of a, "yes, you can cross, but let's do this reasonably". At least give me the fake, 1/8th normal speed Heisman-pose jog.
Naturally sweetened in a plastic bottle.
The homeless should keep an eye out for discarded keyboards in the trash. There's food under them keys.
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