If You Are Sane, DNR (Do Not Read)

Once I've bought the Redbull and consigned myself to a night of work (and perhaps the next morning, too), all motivation for my task goes out the window. Perhaps said motivation is given wings, as the Redbull commercial advertises?

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I remember this time a couple of terms ago, I wrote my 45 page conference paper in two nights (without any prescribed assistance, I might add). Now I find myself dreading the commencement of a simple seven page exercise in regurgitation.

Seven pages! I balk! Child's play, I say.

Hopefully, once these dreadful assignments are behind me, I shall be able to ruminate here on topics other than my procrastination and the loathing that it spawns. For now, however, my mother will just have to get a real time update on how her tuition money is being squandered.

My overall feeling of the day is that I hate the internet. As my main outlet for procrastinating, I have delved further into you, ye devil of technology, than I had ever wished to. You have stunted the sense of humour of our youth. No, I do not LOL, nor do I ROFL. Rather, I WFH (weep for humanity).

With the utmost hypocrisy, I challenge you to RAFB (read a fucking book).

That's enough for now.

P.S. An Irishman referred to "nite" as the "American spelling". Way to go, USA. We suck.