Epic Procrastination

Why is it that whenever we have to do something involving physical exercise for a grade, I somehow contract an illness?
Is there perhaps some sadistic little man in a chair somewhere in my head who shuts down my immune system whenever he hears I'll be graded for something involving me running?
"Ah, we're doing the mile today, I see. Hey, is that H1N1?"
Paranoid, you say?
I think not. "Correct" would be a more appropriate adjective.
But, I digress.
I actually meant to post an epic picture of procrastination on here, but it is not showing up very well.
However, I cannot tell you about the picture and then not show you, for that would make me crueler than the tiny evil man who resides in my brain.
So, here you are.

Overall, this took about 6-7 hours to do. It's also somewhat difficult to type because of the massive carpal tunnel it induced. I quite like it though.

If you'd like a larger size, as it is quite difficult to see right now, you may see my DeviantART. (Shameless self-promotion, you say? Perhaps.)

That is all.

Adieu.

Huzzah for procrastination!

So, rather than researching for my history project (how I loathe you, U.S. history 2 honors), I have spent the afternoon doodling a rather smarmy looking gentleman.I like to think that he is a more-than-slightly inebriated young entrepreneur who is spending his evening at a rather dank pub, making eyes at any woman or effeminate-looking man (mind you, he is quite drunk.) that catches his fancy.
I did not draw the bartender, but I imagine him to be making an exasperated face at our unctuous young gentleman, which is silly because as a bartender, he has probably seen rowdier crowds than the likes of him.
Perhaps he's a new bartender. I am not quite sure.
In any event, this is my first procrastination from a project (but certainly not the last) for the new school year.
Truly it is a joyous occasion.
Anyhow, I should probably get working now.
Adieu.

I've got to wake up HOW early?

So, the first day is over and done with.
My creative writing class does not seem too terrible, but apparently we will have to write a one act play sometime during the year, which scares me a bit. I am not exactly Shakespeare. (Actually, the idea of being Shakespeare scares me even more than the fact that I'll have to write a play, simply because I cannot say I would be fond of being a bearded fellow who has been dead and buried for nearly 500 years. Though, I digress.)
Perhaps it is just the insecurity talking, but I tend to think that any play I would be able to come up with would be pretty atrocious.
Generally, the stories I write don't really have a solid plot, so rather than writing an epic tragedy about star-cross'd lovers, I would probably write a story about an impatient guy who goes to the post office and encounters a lonely mailman who is desperate to talk to someone.
The whole play would be their conversation, which I imagine would go something like this:

"Mail Man: Ah, so you've got some outgoing mail, I see.
Impatient Guy: Yes.
MM: It's always nice to get mail. It makes me feel important.
IG: (glancing at watch) Indeed it does.
MM: Of course, people don't send a lot of mail these days. They send those -what'chacall'em - electronic messages! See, back in my day, we didn't have anything like that. We had one mailbox in town and you had to walk 3 miles in the snow uphill both ways to get to it...." Etc.

Needless to say, any play I would write would be quite abhorent, which is why I'm a bit nervous. But I suppose I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.
Overall, the first day was pretty all right, and that is all I have got to say, so I shall bid you adieu this evening.
Adieu.

School's a-comin'.

So, it just so happens that I did not get any art classes this year.
Please do not misunderstand me, I did attempt to get one, but I was unfortunately thwarted by my music teacher who, yet again, guilted me into taking Instrumental Lab, so if you were hoping to see any drawings of a higher artistic quality than my Microsoft Paint stick figures and unrealistically sized angry-bees, then I'm afraid I shall have to disappoint you.
However, I was able to get a creative writing class, so perhaps you will be able to see, dare I say, even more cranium-explodingly amazing writing from yours truly. (Egocentric, you say? Whatever gave you that idea?)
I am somewhat depressed that summer is coming to an end, though.
It hardly seems as if I was able to do anything these past few months except get attacked by various insects.
It is indeed quite a shame, but I suppose that these sorts of things are bound to happen.
To me, anyway.
So, it is on that note I leave you, my dear blog readers.
One hopes that your summers were filled with less leggy anthropods than mine.
Adieu.

More Insect Mishaps.

No, I am not talking about the cricket-wizard infestation.
We have learned to get along through simple compromises.
As long as they do not jump out of the silverware drawer at me, I will not procede to stomp the bejeesus out of them with my shoe.
It works well.
But anyhow, getting back to the subject at hand, the insects I am referring to are the inexplicably angry wasps that attacked me whilst I was mowing the lawn the other day.
For your convenience, I have prepared an illustration in Microsoft Paint that should well explain what the situation was like.
Aren't I an amazing artist? These cranky little fellows attacked my father and I because we were apparently too close to their hive, so to Walmart we did go to procure wasp spray, and spray them we did.
All is well now, but I felt I had to tell my lovely readers about it.
And now that that is done, I shall bid you adieu.
Adieu.
(Hello to my new follower, by the way. :D)

Driving lessons grow increasingly nigh...

I'm a bit nervous.
With the amount of video games I've played involving violent car crashes and vehicular homicides, i.e Grand Theft Auto and its various sequels, I can't help but think I'll be a terrible driver.
It worries me that these games are the only reference I have towards proper driving etiquette.
You see, in these games, flipping off little old ladies during high-speed pursuits with the police after brutally running over pedestrians and stealing their wallets seems to be the norm driving-wise, but the particularly sweaty woman at the DMV with whom I discussed this dilemma seemed especially perturbed and attempted to take back my learner's permit.
Now, the perspiring DMV woman seemed to know what she was doing, (most sweaty women do) but I do not wish to believe that video games would ever lie to me.
Perhaps I shall just follow what the driving instructor tells me to do.
Instructors tend to be more knowledgeable in their respective fields than over-heated females or violent video games, I believe.
So, with that, I bid you goodnight.
I wish you all good luck if you happen to pass by me on the road.
Adieu.

Blargh.

Inspiration to write an amusing blog post is difficult to come by these days.
The dastardly fiends known as the Writing Gods have, in order to spite me, kept all the funny story ideas to themselves, leaving me not unlike a desperate fratboy denied a high-five.
"Come on, bro, don't leave me hangin'!" I eloquently beg the sadistic deities, my backwards baseball cap falling off in despair.
(Yes, headgear can fall off in despair. Shut up.)
But, alas, despite all of my pleading, the Gods continue to revel in their Schadenfruede, leaving me with nary an amusing limerick to please my perpetually patient blog readers.
So, if you were wondering why I've not been updating as of late, it is because the Writing Gods are out to get me, not because the cricket-wizards have finally finished me off.
Not that they have not been trying, mind you, what with all their hiding in the silverware drawer, trying to give me a heart attack by jumping out at me when I only want a spoon for my delicious Cheerios.
All righty, then.
That is all.
Adieu.