it's morrissey week in pieland!
So, here's a funny thing that happened to me. On Friday, at my company's barbeque, while I was busy getting red and splotchy, this British guy who works in my office told me that he had looked at my MySpace profile and seen that in answer to the question about who I'd like to meet, I'd replied, "Morrissey." He then told me that Morrissey went to his school, and in fact he was from the part of Manchester whence also emanated the Happy Mondays, and others of that kidney. He didn't know any of them, though, he just saw them around town sometimes. Can I just say, I think it's completely awesome that a person would go to the trouble of telling me something like that just because they read on my MySpace profile about how I'm ironically obsessed with Morrissey. People are fun.
Also, this is fun.
And now back to paper-writing. If anyone would like to come over to my house and kill me right now, I will totally come and pick you up. I'm afraid I won't be able to give you a ride back home, but you can have my car if you want.
posted by thedrymock @ 7:54 PM
8 comments
8 Comments:
What kind of car is it? I don't mind killing you, but I don't want a gas guzzler
Oh no no, it's a Civic. And you are my new best friend! Let's just hurry this up, can we? Before I write a single other sentence that makes me suspect I was born without a brain.
OMG I am so going to dance like that from now on.
When I ... like ... you know ... go out dancing and shit.
Yes! Let us dance like that together! July 29th, baby. As soon as my stupid school crap is over. And then the next morning, we will dance like the Morrissey dances in that second inset (head in hand, hangover face). Well, I will anyway.
I don't want your car, I want your corneas (not a comma splice so much as an aesthetic choice).
Pie week in Morrisseyland would be entertaining, too. Morrissey gets many pies (fruit and kidney and eel), then moons over them. He could eat the fruit ones, at least, but he doesn't. Wistfully he doesn't.
No, he doesn't, because they partake too much in the nature of the flesh pies. Am I there, is all I'd like to know.
Dammit, now I'm mad about the comma splice thing again. He gave me the same exact crap on my second paper, too.
Yes, you are there. If you entreat Morrissey to eat the fruit pies, turn to page 76. If you praise the extent of his vegetarianism, turn to page 54. If you stand idly by pining over him while he moons over pies, go back to the beginning of this page. Morrissey en abîme.
Your writing teacher irritates me. It should be clear from the quality of your writing that anything unconventional you do is a stylistic choice, not an error. He should praise you to the skies, especially considering the incoherent mass of prose he almost certainly gets from other students.
Well, I didn't want out of Morrisseyland, anyway.
My writing teacher irritates me, too. I'm even going to blog about it, as soon as I calm down about this Bush thing.
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