(no subject)

My Zimmerman defarbed Springfield has arrived at my house.

Oh me, oh my. I want to play with it. Now.

I've been out drinking with Jack, Sarah, and Rebecca The Southerner, and hence am in a good mood. Plus, it's the weekend, with only a week of classes left to go. We watched Enemy at the Gates, with appropriate gasps at the hotness of Jude and Joseph (from the girls), historical commentary (myself) and drunken commentary (mostly Jack, but with contributions and help from all parties). Plus, we had some awesome pizza.

My sister got into fucking Brown. I mean, jesus.

Speaking of jesus, I hope the pope dies soon. Not maliciously. Just that he doesn't need to suffer. We might have some differences of belief, but we also have some similar ones, and he's only human after all - and he doesn't deserve to spend hours and hours in pain before going on to his reward, whatever that may be.

WHY must it show a sad face for drunk ferret?

I'm gonna go watch some Wicked Spring, dork out, and go to sleep.

I'm bloody ridiculous. No other word for it.