24 October 2001 - 2:37 p.m.

Ok, so I've written from time to time about my professor, who is one of my project advisors in the whole phat quest to sequence the bard's plays. He is, to use a term introduced to me by a friend, a Hottie McHotHot, and thenceforce shall be known as Prof. McHotHot (incidentally, my ass is so fired if he ever reads this, so throw me a bone and don't show him this, kay?)

But I have never written about Professor McFilmProf - Jesus Christ am I uncreative - who is really not of too much interest, except that I've had two dreams about him over the past two nights.

In the first which I dreamed on Monday, I was battling evil, who came in the form of a guy named Fuck who looked a lot like Carrot Top, only evil, and residing under a chair. There were few people who weren't immediately eaten by Fuck, but Prof. McFilmProf was immune and therefore infinitely valuable to my quest, even though I don't think he said or did anything the entire time. He just hung around in the outfit that he wore to class yesterday. Spooky.

In the second, last night, I had just graduated from college, and he and Frances McDormond, who was apparently also my professor, were trying to get me to get wasted with them. They said my parents were invited.

Ok, this is where Parappa the Rapper would say, "WHHHAAAAT?" I mean, according to Freud and the rest, I want to 1. save mankind and 2. go out and get drunk with Prof. McFilmProf, which everyone knows are prime prerequisites for fucking. (Not really, I just wanted to say that.)

Man, I don't even find Prof. McFilm Prof attractive. So what am I doing dreaming about his skank ass?

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: