The kiss of death

I've had this horrible dry throat for the past month or so, just absolutely dessicated and causing me to cough constantly. I think the Idaho climate isn't good for my health anymore, and the problem is only worsened when I go out to the bar and am exposed to cigarette smoke. So the other night when I came home from a brief night out, I popped in a Cepacol honey-lemon lozenge to ease my troubled throat. Tired as I was, however, I only got through about half the lozenge before expelling it and deciding to brush my teeth, and it was when I did this that I came to a startling realization:

Cepacols and toothpaste combine to give the precise scent of urinal cakes. And let me tell you, nothing is more pleasing to the palate than brushing your teeth with a urinal cake. Come on ladies, who wants to give me a kiss with my urinal breath!!

Curse of the hole in the sand

I previously mentioned that Jackpot, Nevada, is the Devil's playground, and has treated Tom and I shamefully, but I never appreciated the full depth of Jackpot's perfidy until I read a comment Mandy left on that post. Tom has, for all intents and purposes, been sucked into the gaping maw of evil that is Jackpot, apparently never to be seen again. Nobody has seen hide nor hair of him since he returned, and last week he never responded to my text message.

I fear the worst. I fear he lost more in Jackpot than he let on and now has been forced into a life of indentured servitude while he repays his debts to the various mobsters and lowlifes who execute Satan's bidding in the wastelands of Nevada. Damn you all, give us back our Tom!

Did I ever tell you about Sammy Jenkis?

I swear one of my parent's cats is Sammy Jenkis. No matter how much or how often one feeds him, he wanders off for about five minutes and then returns to cry and cry like he is starving to death. I honestly don't think he remembers that he just ate half a tin of cat food and, given the chance, would eat and eat until he died, much like how Sammy Jenkis gave shot after shot of insulin to his wife until he killed her.

1 + 3= 5

I've long held a sort of perverse pride in the fact that with each passing day, I forgot more and more algebra and geometry, due mainly to absolute lack of use. Alas, my stupidity came back to haunt me, as I recently took the GRE test, the one you need to get into US and Canadian grad schools. And while I don't have my official final results yet, I did get an unofficial score on the computer I was tested on, and if those numbers hold, I think I am largely inept when it comes to math.

But not basic math that you use on a daily basis, mind you. That lot, the arithmetic and basic geometry, I'm clever enough at; it is more the algebra stuff that puts the whammy on me, to the tune of putting me only in the 60th percentile when it comes to math. That translates to me doing better than roughly 60% of all test takes in math, which sounds pretty ordinary to me, particularly in light of the fact that I scored in the top 1% for the verbal section.

I almost feel bad, especially since I studied up for weeks on the math sections (and very little of what I studied actually showed up on this test), but then I remember that I have used nothing beyond basic arithmetic at no point in my life. I have never had to figure relative areas for a cube and circle, and don't expect to at any point in the near future.

Of course, with my math being in such a sorry state of affairs, I may have misread my scores entirely, and confused my address with my math results.