The Trouble With Tribbles
Dr. Mario has recently become a bit of focus for my life and the life of my roommates: Whit, JJ and Tony. During our semi-frequent Dr. Mario binges, the conversation almost always turns from bad to worse. Conversations such as this deserve permanent encapsulation.
Whitney: I call my penis, "The Starship Enterprise".
Dan: People are always asking for permission to board?
Whitney: Exactly. And out back, I keep the captain's log.
JJ: Ew.
Dan: Well, I hear that no one wants to board as of late.
Whitney: Why's that?
Dan: You have tribbles in your tribobulator. If you know what I mean. And I think that you do.
JJ: Are you talking about crabs?
Dan: Indeed.
At then at some point, the NES wll beep uncontrollably and someone will scream, "Motherfucker! Why can't I get a blue pill?"
And I'm only a senior for 10 weeks. It's sad.
See what I was saying about spending most of my last semester drunk?
Indeed I do. Honestly, I think a few points on the BAC would help me understand this romanticism/classicism/definition-of-poetry thing a little better.
Rush started Monday, which is completely dry at Rose. Pretty much can't get a drink until homecoming. If it weren't for that, I'd go back on my Cap'n & Coke regimen.
i hope you are enjoying the Dr. Mario - it is in essence all that is great about drunken trash-talking video games. I will have to break out my NES soon to get some practice in so I can totally kick all of your asses over homecoming...
Lemmiwinks!