Every time I think that I'm the only one who's lonely
Someone calls on me
And every now and then I spend my time in rhyme and verse
And curse those faults in me.
And then along comes Mary
Then along comes Mary
And does she want to give me kicks , and be my steady chick
And give me pick of memories
Or maybe rather gather tales of all the fails and tribulations
No one ever sees...
- "Along Comes Mary" (The Bloodhound Gang)
Hey guys, it's been awhile. I apologize for the delay in posting anything new, but I was really lacking for anything to talk about for awhile there. Long story made short...I'm back at Kent. All is well with for the world for the next couple of days untill I freak out over something I caused for myself.
You know the routine...Why am I always sitting in my room watching TV? Is there more to the college life than classes, terrible food, a bi-weekly bout with exhaustion, mid-day naps, and extended NCAA 2005 binges? Why aren't I out partying or something? Why aren't I putting myself out there more to meet new people? I've been here a YEAR and I can count the amount of people I'm comfortable being with that I didn't know before I got here on one hand. Well, it's PROBABLY because I'm too lazy and comfortable with my little lot in life to go out and try something different. But don't tell that to Colin...I think he might be listening. *Shhh....*
So here I stand on the verge of my second year in College. Am I wiser? Sure. Am I more mature? Well, I was never very immature to begin with...That's my problem. Am I more dedicated to improving my status in the world? That's where the questions come in. A wise man once said..."Never take life too seriously, because if you do...You'll never make it out alive." That man also went on to be in "The In-Laws" and then nail crazy-ass Alanis Morissette, Soooo...Maybe he was wrong?
Chì mi rithist thu,
Colin
Friday, August 06, 2004
Sister Joan, age 54, ignores the desert sun,
The stranded church bus smoking, no sign of anyone.
Buzzards circle overhead, panic starts to set.
The kids are getting restless, her habit soaked with sweat.
The minutes become hours, she wobbles in the heat.
Then, a distant engine roars, approaching from the East.
She squints through horn-rimmed glasses, her pure heart skips a beat.
Snake McGinty's Harley Hog, parts the dusty heat.
Black leather-clad from head to toe, his eyelids barely open,
Sister Joan says, "Holy Ghost, please tell me that you're joking."
He parks his bike, stands six foot four, then gives her a nod.
Through leather pants his manhood shows, she rolls her eyes at God.
"Havin' trouble?", he barely mumbles. "Yes sir", she replies.
He pops the hood, takes off his shirt, she covers up her eyes.
"Kids", she says, "Back on the bus. Everyone be good."
Her fingers part, her eyes take in his reflection off the hood.
She grips her rosary tight with guilt and stares down at her socks.
Her mind protects her vows with God, but her body picks the lock.
He bends to check the fan belt, her nipples say, "Hello".
Her eyes climb up his leather chaps like a snail with vertigo.
She shuts her eyes and shakes her head, her legs start feeling funny.
"Lord", she says, "For work like this, I'm making shitty money."
He shuts the hood, "My name is Snake, I'm wanted in five states."
She said, "Snake you're my forbidden fruit, and I need a little taste."
The kids look on in disbelief. The kiss is slow, then faster.
Cheering rocks the school bus, till she says "Snake let's ditch these bastards.
As they left, the kids screamed "No", she turned around and waved.
Her next confession killed a priest and lasted seven days.
For years the scandal rocked the church, but she regained their trust.
She still teaches Sunday school, but she doesn't drive the bus.
- Paul Gimartin
That's it for this post. I just wanted to share this genius poem. Hasta.
Kapa ga nossa,
Colin
The stranded church bus smoking, no sign of anyone.
Buzzards circle overhead, panic starts to set.
The kids are getting restless, her habit soaked with sweat.
The minutes become hours, she wobbles in the heat.
Then, a distant engine roars, approaching from the East.
She squints through horn-rimmed glasses, her pure heart skips a beat.
Snake McGinty's Harley Hog, parts the dusty heat.
Black leather-clad from head to toe, his eyelids barely open,
Sister Joan says, "Holy Ghost, please tell me that you're joking."
He parks his bike, stands six foot four, then gives her a nod.
Through leather pants his manhood shows, she rolls her eyes at God.
"Havin' trouble?", he barely mumbles. "Yes sir", she replies.
He pops the hood, takes off his shirt, she covers up her eyes.
"Kids", she says, "Back on the bus. Everyone be good."
Her fingers part, her eyes take in his reflection off the hood.
She grips her rosary tight with guilt and stares down at her socks.
Her mind protects her vows with God, but her body picks the lock.
He bends to check the fan belt, her nipples say, "Hello".
Her eyes climb up his leather chaps like a snail with vertigo.
She shuts her eyes and shakes her head, her legs start feeling funny.
"Lord", she says, "For work like this, I'm making shitty money."
He shuts the hood, "My name is Snake, I'm wanted in five states."
She said, "Snake you're my forbidden fruit, and I need a little taste."
The kids look on in disbelief. The kiss is slow, then faster.
Cheering rocks the school bus, till she says "Snake let's ditch these bastards.
As they left, the kids screamed "No", she turned around and waved.
Her next confession killed a priest and lasted seven days.
For years the scandal rocked the church, but she regained their trust.
She still teaches Sunday school, but she doesn't drive the bus.
- Paul Gimartin
That's it for this post. I just wanted to share this genius poem. Hasta.
Kapa ga nossa,
Colin
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