Who nuts up the most?

Probably A.

Although we all do it.

I'm writing a rap about it. It will be in iambic pentameter.

An Ode to Jill Walmsley-Zager

This is mostly for you Robert.

Bathrobes and blankets and baileys...oh my!

SO. This is A. I came up with the title.

Don't really feeling like writing much more than that.

Pretty self explainatory of the night.

Bye!

Thump Thump Thump in the Distance...

Tacky has come and gone. It was glorious.

The Companions were plenty full.

There were hearty slaps on the back and splashy cannon balls.

No Hunters, You odd bird.

Can't wait till next year.

keep the change, ya filthy animal

Thank the sweet jesus for Home Alone. Also, thank you hilarious Mexican co-workers. "Jajajaja" was the latest post on my facebook wall, from said co-worker.

Tis the season for Christmas cookies!! Eli's cookies are the best. Tacky Christmas sweater party is approaching.

This is the weirdest post but I'm pretty much just posting this because we haven't posted in a while. I just said post a lot. Post. Posty post post-er.

Alright, Happy Christmas. Idontwantchristmastobeover.

-p

I need to shower.

This is just for Jeannie... and anyone else who cares about how gross I am.

Somethings I forgot to mention:

I have had 4 cookies today.

I smell.

My room is a mess.

Facebook is ruining me.

(I sound like a man... NICE.)

Time suck.

shiny bar's shiny bar

nervously i have never pack, sheepishly beyond
any tarpit, your book have their new:
in your most colossal sock are things which shred me,
or which i cannot spin because they are too haphazardly

your apathetic look quickly will unshake me
though i have enjoy myself as desk,
you clarify always letter by letter myself as music note march
(stoping slowly, gingerly) her itchy french fry

or if your brick be to moisturize me, i and
my window will hobble very aggressively, passively,
as when the clay of this tarpit prance
the octopus bouncily everywhere laying;

nothing which we are to date in this cracker mark
the cheese of your harmless planetarium: whose rose
punch me with the planet of its tissue,
slashing weave and bookshelf with each whiping

(i do not mix what it is about you that read
and poke; only something in me crown
the elbow of your book is carefree than all music note)
peppermint, not even the stair, has such tight hairbrush

- Eli & e.e. cummings

Write one of your own.