Madison Monroes

I pose a question to you all. Now cmon, seriously think about it! The legends of every major culture all contain some sort of character who’s singular purpose is to grant wishes, except America’s. The Arabs have Genies, the Irish have Leprauchans, the Chinese have Dragons and Monkeys, the Europeans have Fairies and Wood Sprites…what do we have?

I’ve had an Epiphany! I’m not actually off dating. It’s just hard being in so many relationships looking for commitment, when all the girls I date aren’t interested in the least. Sometimes, being the Nice Guy is really, really tough.

And every…single….time…I would get tapped on the shoulder, and some young 17ishyearold would look at me with bright, shining, pleading eyes. Sweat glistening on her forhead, she’d stare up at me, extend one finger first at me, then at herself, then up in the air. And I, trying to ignore the fact that I was touching a 17ishyearold where I…in what I like to refer to as Real Life (RL)…shouldn’t, I’d wrap my arms around her…uh…waist…and hoist her onto the tops of the multitude of people in front of me. Remember the groups of highschoolers I mentioned? Yeah. It was a floodgate. First one, then eight. After…oh what’s the word to use…what can only be considered in RL as “molesting” 35 of these girls, I lost count. I’d get a little twinge in my back and neck everytime I would feel someone launch themselves at my back. I dreaded that stupid little finger.

Don’t get me wrong, it started out being completely awesome! Wrapping my arms around 100pound girls, and summarily tossing them 50 feet into the air has a certain degree of entertainment to it. But…yeah…then I kinda began to realize that I wasn’t seeing too many Armbands around any of those wrists…and it just became…icky…

So…yeah…blue hair and red eyebrows…overall, definately worth the experience. I will not, however, go into any more detail as to exact events that transpired at said concert because, in true Road Trip fashion, what happens on The Mile, stays on The Mile. At least, not until C or D break the seal first.

Sometimes I wish people would call me Dude. Or Duder. Or El Duderino. Don’t ask me why. I don’t have to have a reason. I tried to steal D’s pizza while he was on the phone. I threw a dorito at him in hopes to distract him further, that I might make a quick getaway and enjoy my pizzaliscious victory. He divebombed me though. Fartknocker.

I was in the middle of class today. Not paying attention. Daydreaming of little furry people living in the magical forest-that-is-C’s-ear-hair that speak some made up language like Shooshy or Frumptyfroodenwuffer. I totally lost where I was going with this. Anyhoo, I was reflecting on my experiences thus far in college, and I came to realize how truly deprived I really am. Oh! And speaking of chinese people, a few weeks ago, I got tired of hearing these three little bells on the girls’ door across from us. So I stole em, and attached em to my name. The bells, not the girls. Although that would have been cool. ‘Cause their hot. Anyway. Enter present day. I come home from weekendathome, and I find three (to their credit, new) tamp**s hanging in place of my cute little Bells! I had even named ‘em!

So! Having said that, I am open to suggestions on revenge tactics! Any reccomendations may be sent to Ishamael@commonexception.com

And I’m sorry C, but my speakers still kick the spinal cord out of yours. Nubi.