Eunuc sef la harem de cibernautice, caut job de student

For the few of you who surfed the web during the weekend, I’ve got a notice, other than the fact that you should get a life. Especially during the weekend. I don’t write during weekends.

Being a syringe fucks up your weekend life. All those sterile environments that an usual syringe experiences during the weekdays fade away when the weekend starts. During the weekends, an average syringe is more likely to be used by junkies than doctors. As a representative of syringes all over, I can not turn a blind eye to that and leave my sisters into the hands of junkies while they are getting used multiple times and heated up to dimm flames. One of the reasons why I don’t write during weekends. The other one is that it is quite handy to say stuff like

“I don’t answer my phone while I am eating, sleeping or riding my bike”

” I don’t answer my phone while I am at the cinema, school, theater or the swimming pool”

” I don’t answer my phone while I am writing, smoking or working”

The sum of all of the above pretty much tells you that I rarely answer my phone. Now that it’s public, it’s a fact. You shouldn’t be mad about it, because you could have found out about it before you called, with a simple google search: “does syringe answer its phone right now?”.

All these rules and regulations are a deceptive facade, in reality. Easy like a feather, if I want to answer my phone while some of the above are in development, I do. Try a set of rules like these, they will most likely make your life a lot easyer. And if they don’t, fuck them, they are ment to be broken anyway.

My favourite wildcard for a monday afternoon is school. You may wonder why that card is wild but Cybernetics Inc. is the kind of place that lets you make your pick concerning that. This time it’s the un-even distribution of pussy in the establishment. I used to think there are probably 5 girls in the entire school, but much to my dismay, I got fixed with an only-girls-and-one-other-dude class. It was probably the result of an intricate ecuation that the dean worked on for the entire summer, an ecuation that was due to fix my embarassingly low attendance to courses. It kindda worked, but not as well as you’dd expect it. With 25 girls in the same room, it feels like bathing in an ocean of estrogen.

As all complicated ecuations generate a number of end results and another number of consequences, my suddenly-overwhelmed-by-pussy student life smiled and asked for a new type of job, a student kindda job. All these and a number of other coincidences that creeped into my life made me think that I should expect for something to happen any moment now. Something is just around the corner, thus, I decided to become a waiter.

Much to my surprise, shortly after I embarked on this endeavor, I learned that it’s not such an easy task. It is actually easyer to find a job as a manager of something or other than to find a job as a waiter. What a cruel world we all live in. My lack of experience as a waiter/bartender/something that serves_and_does_not_drink_liquor qualifies me for a job as a piccolinno, at best. The fact that I will probably drink on the job makes as much difference as the result of a differential ecuation makes for my most famous professor of advanced mathematics, now that he’s dead.