I am displeased.
I cannot defeat the kung fu of the online Algebra test. Seriously. Since I can take the damn things three times, you'd think I could get 100 perfect points. Negatory. The best I can do is a 96 point whatever for not knowing how to multiply the factors of 21. I told you I can't play Blackjack in Vegas because of all the math. SEE? I WASN'T KIDDING. I don't even make the same mistakes on each try. I find new and ingenious ways to fuck up every time. If I can't subdue the Algebra kung fu, I will throttle Jimmy Vincente. I will poke him sharply with a half-dried out whiteboard marker. I will narrow my eyes and frown at him. I will stamp my foot and leave in a huff. I will not thank him when I win my Oscar and I won't apologize for it the next morning when I'm on Oprah. Jimmy Vincente is dead to me, except for when I have to sit in his class. And then he's a vegetable to me.
Dang, it's getting cold in ye olde White Rock Coffee. They've got a hippie couple up from Austin to play the jangly guitar music and something they insist is NOT a mandolin, but it sure as hell sounds like one to me. All their songs sound the same. I'm sure they're very nice people, and I can't smell any patchouli, so I guess they're alright. I'd let them on the Ark, as long as they never came up to the Lido Deck while I was there.
Ok, that's it. There's no way WRC is going to give me another free frozen coffee beverage of any kind so there's nothing here for me. I'm breaking up with WRC for tonight, until next week when I need free wi-fi again. They always take me back. Suckers.
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