Because I can't resist a self pimp.

I'm a whore. It's best we get that out of the way, now. Done? Good. My buddy floweringjudas had a class today where a presentation by a fellow student had him referring to Alexander Pope as "The Pope." Ahahaha. My supposition:

Maybe he's a secret closet rapper (the presentation guy) and he's all into Alexander Pope's mad rhymz. So he's all "The Pope, biotch!"

The Pimp now spredz tha glitterin' Foreskin wide,
T' inclose mah JOCK; now joins it, so ride.
Ev'n then, before the fatal cootchie clos'd,
A lo down skeezer too fondly interpos'd

*throws down mic wif mad success, y'all, PEACE*

(Actual poem)

And why do I have Aleister Crowley in my address bar? In other news, fudge continues to rule my world. I just got back from the yarn store with some pumpkin wool, a pretty limey green, black, some "tweeded" navy and green, and I'm gunna crochet like a summbitch while re-watching Friday Night Lights, aka the best show you aren't watching!! Oh, how I wish someone would teach me to knit. I wanna make mittens. I can crochet well, but I want to know how to KNIIIIIIT. *clickety-clack!*

[ETA] For RANT A FUCKING GO GO. Women Aren't Funny?
( Women aren't funny? Say, if that was an original thought, I might not be rolling my eyes, Sir. )