Ok, that title has nothing to do with anything. I just thought it was amusing.
My welding teacher got hella pissed today, because people take out equipment and leave it out. He basically described the clean-up job in the shop the same way I clean up my room. Or rather, there is rarely any cleaning up at all.
But what if we actually kept the shop in the same condition as I keep my room? I kinda want to leave dirty dishes strewn around, and hang my boxers, shirts, pants, and socks over all the machines, put up posters, etc.
I think, in all his anger, he might just have to laugh. I mean, how mad can you be? It's kinda funny. But then again, I bet the guys who keep pissing anywhere but on the toilet thought the same thing when they got the bathroom closed up.
I was thinking about something today... If I faked hemophilia, I could get out of tests with a paper cut.
"Miss Joyner, I cut my thumb. I need to leave for the rest of the day."
"You know, I'm starting to think that you don't have hemophilia. Because every time we have a test, you cut yourself-"
"I get nervous."
"But when I release you, I can hear you cheering in the hallwa-"
*Just then, I would squeeze the ketchup packet in the palm of my hand, and it would shoot out from my thumb like I was clenching a hose. *
"Oh no... It's STARTING!! AHHHHAAGGG!"
"Oh jesus, get out of here with that thing!"
I run out the door.
Then you hear me cheer. "SCORE!! HAHA"
The Insomniac Blog is back, people!
I'm excited. I'm going to make it popular, interesting, funny, and controversial.
Let's start off with a vision I had of the future: Living appliances.
Wouldn't that be cool? I submit that it would.
Let's live a typical morning in the house of the future, shall we?
You are awakened at 6:30am by a shot of caffeine and adrenaline, your bed releases you from it's grasp- it is a nice, warm, fleshy bed... Some prefer a fatty bed, others prefer a muscle-bound bed, but either way, it's hard to stay awake once you are cradled under it's fin-like appendages. You slide down the fins to your floor, which is a solar carpet, collecting light when you don't need it, and casting a humbling glow for mornings like this.
Your shoes scuttle toward you, and lay at your feet with their legs spread out on the floor. When you step on them, the legs clasp over your feet, and the shoes become part of you. But the rest of the clothes can wait, because you need to take a shower. You approach a peculiar looking hole in the wall, and slip yourself head-first into it. Inside, anemone-like tentacles move and cleanse your every curve and crevice. The slight static charge raises every hair of your body and they are also cleansed.
You pop out quickly enough, right next to a mirror, where you can do your hair and brush your teeth. Your toothbrush however, is a full-mouth brusher, meaning you wear it like a retainer and turn it on. It brushes, flosses, and rinses every tooth at the same time, and the job it done.
You need to take a shit. You look for the toilet... What the...? It seems the toilet resembles the desert creature in that one starwars flick, except raised above the ground in a very toilet-esqe manner. You start to sit down, but it latches on before you can. There is a lot of suction and nasty gurgling, and all your waste is swallowed down a very throat-like pipe. If you were from the past, this would be terrifying. But you're not, so you continue on, knowing that your feces will probably power your house for the next 12 hours.
You turn around, and a muscle in the door nearest you expands with a charge of electricity, opening it for you.
After putting on your muscle suit, you head out to your car, which is a beetle, you could say. It has eyes and an exo-skeleton, that is. But when you strap yourself in, you become it's brain. You see through it's eyes, and control it with your mind like you would your arms. Not that it has wings, that's silly. It hovers on a large electro-magnetic highway. The magnetism also prevents accidents, which is convenient.
You have to take your son to school- He gets in the next seat over from you.
Halfway through the trip he turns on classical music, you tell him to turn that crap off, and put on some rap. Because we never have the same taste in music as our parents.
More on this to come? It depends if you like my ideas or not.