The Post I Forgot to Title

I have been up all night. That is, all at once, an excuse and an apology. That is to say, I'm not apologetic enough about what suck inevitably will follow to stop typing it. But heck, it was nice of me to warn you, at least, huh? And that's what this whole blog thing is all about. I'm lookin' out for ya, li'l buddy.

Caution: reading further will prove that you are incredibly stupid.

OK. Well, what am I going to do today? (See, it's a different kind of blog already. What AM I GOING TO do today, not what DID I do today.) Well, here's the plan. I'm sure that what will actually occur in my life today will be quite a bit different.

First, I am going to go to Christmas with the Kranks. I know, I know. "It's Christmas with the Kranks," you warn me. In response, I scoff and reply, "Oh, come now. How bad could it possibly be?.............."

Second, I am going to pay for my ferry ticket to the Shetland Islands. You see, I'm kinda going there for the next few days. So, no more Boyumblog until January. Aren't you sad? Of course, that's supposing that I pay for my ticket. If I don't I imagine something like this will happen. I'm sitting, enjoying the salt sea air from my deluxe, reclining (and free) seat on the observation deck, when a large and surly conductor-type comes up to me and asks for my ticket. When I inform him that I was too lazy to actually purchase my ticket, he punches me square in the face, which sends me through the plate glass window next to me and out onto the deck, bloody. After following me out onto the deck, he picks me up by the trousers and shirt collar and throws me into the ocean. When the wealthy passengers that are there despite the fact that they are much too wealthy to have purchased a mere deluxe, reclining, and free seat for the voyage are shocked by this, the conductor simply points a thumb over the edge of the deck and explains: "No ticket." At this point they all realize that he is actually Harrison Ford, and they, being old and forgetful, remember why they were here in the first place. They all get out their tickets in a mad rush, and ... well, go watch the movie, because I'm sick of writing more about it. Let's just say: I die a horrible death at the hands of Harrison Ford. And then a swarm of killer bees flies in and kills them all as well. Death, sweet death. Whoa. I'm starting to scare me.

Whew. Third, I am going to study for my physics final, which -- because I'm in stupid Britain -- is in stupid January, not before Christmas like around the rest of the bloody globe. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Whoa, Mr. Cranky, where did you come from? I really don't hold violent thoughts in my head about the loverly Brits around me. I just hate having finals in January. Buck up, li'l buddy.

Too many links. I shall go hit my head against a wall now because I'm a bad ol' bear. If I'm back in January then you'll know I didn't damage anything permanently. Maaaybbeeee...

Merry Holidays and Happy Christmas.

And look forward to MOOP REVIEWS come January!