School-boy philosopher

I’m having a big “throw out junk” session today. I found an old note from highschool. Apparently I was quite the social philosopher.

Just like with food, there’s more than enough boobs in the world, they’re just poorly distributed.

I think the idea was more along the lines of “why don’t I have a girlie with boobs I can play with”, rather than “every person in the world should get one each”.

I also found a couple of stories I wrote. I must have gone through a phase where I took historical figures, transplanted them to the modern day, and had them do amusingly uncharacteristic things. Sometimes I think it was just a poor excuse for dick jokes.

“Why don’t you make like a tree…” spat the young starlet.
“And root?” exclaimed Shakespeare hopefully, having picked up 20th century Australian culture quickly.
“No, fuckwit, LEAVE!”

I think I was far too influenced by American teen movies. In one story, members of the fraternity Kappa Delta Orgy decide that all the plots to go back in time to kill Hitler haven’t worked, so they are going to try going back in time and getting him laid.

The next one seems a little…how shall we say…older than highschool. I probably wrote it down for a column that I never got around to writing…

“What are you thinking?” A loaded question if I ever heard one. I was playing with her belly button ring with my tongue and, being like most guys, a notorious single-tasker, the honest answer was that I was considering the logistics involved in relocating about six inches in a southerly direction.

I was not sure how much honesty would be appreciated in that situation, but the brain can’t switch out of moronic try-hard love-god mode fast enough. “Uh, nothing” says the master wordsmith, remembering to add what he hopes is a disarming grin – he read somwhere that you can get away with saying just about anything if you say it with a smile.

A snippet from a magazine editorial that I never used…

This issue is dedicated to Sir Isaac Newton, who invented calculus and died a virgin. It’s called karma.

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