update: 9.02.02

I believe everyone is aware of Miss Liquor by this point, but just in case...

Tomorrow I am dropping my Physics class. I hate to sound like every other lily-gut freshman but my professor has no ability to teach a class. It's true, I swear! Usually, that kind of thing doesn't bother me much. I do most of the work beforehand and am always a week ahead. However, the syllabus he handed out contained no sort of coherent plan and his lectures have no structure or sense. He jumps from topic A to topic B to topic C, then briefly back to A, then on to D, then brings up something completely irrelevant and then says "And that explains Relativity!" Mmm hmm.

Furthermore, I don't even need the class. I was taking it as a warmup for the more advanced Physics classes I'm required to take later. So I'm going to drop that mess and peruse the book on my own. I can teach myself Physics far more easily than I can make sense of his ramblings.

.::Da Pimp::.

"She di'n say nothin'...what could she say? I had told huh. I had read huh down. There wasn't nothin' she could say but just look at me."

update: 9.04.02

Enter the exciting world of Bruce LaBruce!

My Sociology professor is a case and a caution. She has an endless repertoire of titilatingly macabre stories to terrorize her students with and sprinkles them liberally throughout her lectures. In fact, they are her lectures. We only managed to cover three pages of the textbook today because she was far too busy revealing the details of several maniacs she had known and/or taught, all of whom later managed to commit gruesome acts of suicide before startled eyewitnesses.

"...and when she walked through the bedroom door, he blew his head off! Afterwards, she had to move out because there were bits of brains and blood all over the walls. And, obviously, she had to get a new bedroom set."

I began to sense a pattern when she revealed that several of her colleagues have also involved themselves in sordid and scandalous escapades. The woman is bad luck.

She is also completely unsympathetic and accepts no excuses whatsoever. And I thought I was tough! Professorette dismissed our sympathies for the rampaging mentally ill with a curt "They could get help! They choose not to!" Her hard-line stance doesn't much trouble me but it certainly seems incongruous with her "sociological perspective." Is this the same person who will lecture for the next three months on "the importance of embracing global diversity?"

.::Da Pimp::.

"Honey, you pay the first day and I'll pay the second!"

update: 9.07.02

Whaaaaat?!

My sociology teacher has struck again. We moved on from Tuesday's discussion of death to Thursday's topic: shitting around the world. She is eager to discuss the excrement customs of the "global village." It's rather unsettling. As I sat with my pencil poised over my notebook, ready to record her pearls, my hair stood on end when she described an Indian flinging shit at her in a crowded New Delhi marketplace.

In the meantime, there is a 31-year old woman who runs the room from end to end, agitated and tense, like a chicken ready to flap and squawk at the first move you make. She says she is lost and has no idea what is happening in the class. Meanwhile, we haven't done a thing except listen to improbable stories; if she is already confused she might want to give up on an academic career and get a job at McDonald's. I mean, so far it's been Jerry Springer 101.

Also, on the first day we were made to stand and tell the A and the Z of ourselves. As I innocently minded my business, I heard a queeny lisp describing the Book of Job and looked up in time to see HomoJesus. This big old girl was wearing a Christ t-shirt and telling us that she planned on becoming a pastor or some similar madness. I don't know. When it was my turn, I was all "Davenport! Robert Davenport! I'm a thief and a shit kicker and uh...I'd like to be famous!"

.::Da Pimp::.

"Honey, you've been sitting down too much this semester, your hips are starting to spread!"

update: 9.09.02

Continuing a trend...

My mother keeps our furniture in perpetual motion. No sooner do I fall supine upon the sofa, comfortably ensconced with a Calculus problem, than she is hollering down the stairs like a banshee:

"Robert! Come and help John move this table!"

Grumbling up the stairs I go. Once there, I discover my mother with her hands planted on her hips, surveying the scene like Patton, while my stepfather labors through the room with a chiffarobe strapped to his back. I immediately commence to bitching and tell her the only thing that moves more than her mouth is our furniture. This does not distract her.

Since she owns her own antique mall, she finds something new for the house about every ten minutes, then brings it home and declares "This is exactly what I need for my living room!" So everything is rearranged to accomodate the current scheme and things proceed on happily for a week or two until she decides it has all become unworkable and needs to be changed. She is the most agitated person I know.

In other news, I added some more pics.

.::Da Pimp::.

"Mrs. MacPhail is a warty-nosed old busybody who is continually moving her sticks of furniture from one part of the front room to another."

update: 9.12.02

Be sure to get Romantic Mary's views on male masturbation...

As I walked to class the other day and passed Commonwealth Stadium, I began to wonder if I would ever look back fondly on the University of Kentucky after I've graduated and gone. I imagined unexpectedly seeing something about the UK Wildcats one afternoon in the future and wondered how I would feel about my college experience then. I haven't made the best of my time here so far and maybe I should. There certainly have been a few good times here and there.

For instance, last semester I was put into a group with two dudes, Landon and Jason, with the purpose of making a presentation to the class on poverty. Rather than actually being a wound up, goal-oriented Type A annoyance and insisting on work, work, work in every meeting, I let go in our group discussions and figured "We'll get through our presentation somehow." And, not only did I enjoy the experience but we got a 98, which was enough to satisfy me.

Later, we got stoned in Jason's Jeep. They told me they had come from a small town in western Kentucky and all they ever wanted to do was leave it and see what the world was all about. There I was, probably ten years older than them and a homo to boot, but I understood that feeling and we formed a connection. I love surprises like that.

Yesterday, I bumped into Landon. He was excited to see me and I was excited to see him. After we caught up, he invited me to a party he is throwing next weekend. I cannot imagine going. I am not the party type. I sit in the corner and snarl. But, it's fun to consider going somewhere to have a good time without it involving interstate travel. We'll see.

.::Da Pimp::.

"In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade, and he carries the reminders of every glove that layed him down or cut him till he cried out, in his anger and his shame, "I am leaving! I am leaving!" But the fighter still remains."

update: 9.16.02

Every now and then one finds a banner worth looking at...via Mike, who always knows where to find such things.

Yesterday I was jogging happily on the treadmill when suddenly (!) it let out a hiss and, as the belt folded in on itself, attempted to throw me to the floor. I was scandalized. I have taken the thing apart several times but now it is beyond repair. It appears that I will actually have to leave the house and do some running through the neighborhood. I'm not sure I want to put myself on display for the entire subdivision, panting and attempting to catch my breath, but what are you going to do?

Now, in an unrelated topic, my mother claims that someone busted into her van the other night and rustled through her glove compartment. She alleges that they were looking for CD's. Why anyone would approach that sinister looking vehicle, devoid of windows and looking like a dungeon on wheels, and think it had an awesome sound system escapes me. However, after she told me that someone tried to break in downstairs (where I sleep!) a few years ago, I decided to take every precaution. So, if you plan on making a nocturnal visit to Greenbrier Road, allow me to warn you that I have a loaded 12 gauge within arm's reach of my bed and I take no prisoners. Welcome to Kentucky.

.::Da Pimp::.

"You'd never make it in one of my films sweetheart...unless maybe as a hairdresser!"

update: 9.19.02

Exclusive pics from Star Wars: Episode III! At least, I think they're stormtroopers...

I am skipping work today. I'll get on the phone with a dramatic excuse in just a moment.

The main problem is that I was in the William T. Young library for hours last night, helping a classmate study for our upcoming Calculus exam. When she asked me if we could go over a few things, I didn't think that meant every homework problem we've done since the beginning of the semester but I misunderstood. On the bright side, I now know the first three chapters inside and out. As my friend Casey said "I ain't skeered of no test!"

Another reason for playing hooky is my supervisor herself, whom I don't care for. She is sugary sweet and fake. And as any proper Southern Lady should be, she is also proud, condescending and assured of her own superiority. We both used to live in DC and she literally recoiled when I told her that I "stayed" on Florida Avenue. "Oh." Sneer. "I lived in Dupont Circle." Well, how fabulous. I spent the night listening to hookers arguing in the street while she heard slurping noises wafting from the bushes as fags crowded into an area known as "The Black Forest" for a quick fix. Certainly that is a lofty distinction.

Perhaps most telling is the ubiquitous Waterlillies print hanging in her living room.

.::Da Pimp::.

"You should see yourself the way I see you!"

update: 9.23.02

I may have linked to this once before, but it's still worthy of a gasp.

Last week my stepfather came home carrying some form of whooping cough. Now, being a fine, healthy specimen, I am fearless when it comes to illness but his contagion flew down the stairs and took me just the same. So now I'm shuffling about the house in my draws, demanding hot toddies, squalling at the cat to get outta my way and being a grump and pain in the ass in general. Fortunately, I have a fever or no one would notice the difference.

Maybe that's why I got bent all out of shape today when I saw a kid steal a drink from the school's cafeteria. I mean, like right in my face! Brazen and shameless! Outside, I saw him puffing on a cigarette and blowing smoke all over the place like a dragon. In passing I asked "D'ya forget to pay for your drink dude?" He scowled and played dumb, though it was probably not much of an act.

Since I was already in a righteous fit, it's just as well that not five minutes later I went in the bathroom and saw someone I know getting the answers to a test he was in the midst of taking. He had arranged a secret rendezvous in the upstairs stall with a confidante who had all the answers. Dude is a mechanical engineering major, too, so I must remember never to drive across a brige he's designed.

Finally, I came home to innocently check my site stats and found that someone arrived at ghettopimpin.com via a "Why is it not ok to cheat in school if you don't get caught?" search. Why? WHY?! Somebody ought to take a switch to your behind for asking such a question. Just imagine you come down with this plague I'm carrying and when you take your septic self to the doctor for treatment you discover that she (very PC) has cheated her way through the University of Kentucky's College of Medicine. Why, she might mistakenly diagnose you as having Jungle Rot and prescribe MAO inhibitors to clear up the situation. One thing leads to another and you end up looking like the woman in the link above. Wouldn't that be lovely?

You're crooks, all three of ya, God-damned crooks!

.::Da Pimp::.

"We're the Meatmen and you suck!"

update: 9.29.02

Now this is a good one.

I spent the past week sucking down Nyquil and savoring the penetrating vapors of mentho-lyptus cough drops. Going to class under the influence of cold medicine is fun! Now, I'm all better and back to normal. I'm more benign when I'm buzzing, though, so I doubt many will argue that my recovery is an improvement.

For instance... I was working at my mom's store this weekend and some bitch customer was courting extinction. I was a warm sista, wondering why these people test me. I've already slammed and locked the door in the face of one annoyance while she shouted "I'm sure God will bless you!" I'm sure He will too.

The problem is, hillbilly swamp trash thinks it can slouch through the door talking any which way and still be treated with courteousy and respect. It shouldn't. I spent too many years on Castle Boulevard and Florida Avenue to take some cracker's shit.

I once saw Katina get so rattled by a customer that she hollered "I'm going to lunch!" before running outside to get all up in the lady's face and ask "So whatchu gonna say now?!" I listened as Ernestine threatened "What're you gonna do if I come across this counter and slap you in the face?" I heard Margaret heatedly exclaim "I'm talking to you, bitch!" before claiming that the time had come to vaseline her face and slip into her shorts, cuz there was "about to be a fight!"

I think my snarls and disgust are the height of courtesy in comparison. I'm only mildly ghetto, I don't know why my mother fumes "This is a place of business!"

.::Da Pimp::.

"DISQUALIFIED!"

update: 9.30.02

I wonder if they have a golden calf?