Wednesday, November 14, 2007

One sentence, directed at my mother.

Hey, Mother, would you would be so kind as to shoot me an e-mail with my GRE scores in it; I need 'em (official-like, as opposed to the in-my-head "Two seven-somethings and probably a good writing score") for grad school applications... which is silly, I think, as I'm not applying anywhere which hasn't already received my GRE scores straight from the source's mouth, or whatever, but the apple-cation won't let me continue until I have SOMETHING to put in those boxes, and as tempted as I am to just write "check the damn scores you've already been sent, Chompies", I am no fool (or more aptly, I am the capital-F Fool, as in a joker, trickster, or jester-hat-wearing silly nubbins walking in Loki's shadow, and not the more bas sort of fool, as in a dude who one would not trust to make soup unsupervised).


Blogger Aaron Poppleton said...

Are you sure we can trust you to make soup, sir?

Soup can be...complicated.

11/14/2007 8:16 PM  
Blogger Jose said...

Seriously man.

The seasoning is what kills you.

11/15/2007 6:06 AM  

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