Dirty Laundry. Dirty Elves. Dirty Soil.

What's more fun than facebook? Trying to have 6! conversations on facebook chat at one time. I attempted this feat recently, and ended up having an epilleptic seizure, but it was the best epilleptic seizure I have ever had.



Aside from facebook, my life has been heavily involved in smelly things recently.



First, my dorm is very clean. Very organized. However, there is a lingering stench that seems to be impossible to extinguish. I thought perhaps our dorm was built on an ancient burial ground, perhaps an ancient burial ground that was a burial ground EXCLUSIVELY for stinky indians. And if wikipedia is correct, which it undoubtedly always is, ALL native americans have body odor. Therefore, my dorm smells bad.



Turns out, my roommate is conducting a science experiment with soil, sugar, water, and ASSHOLE, which for some reason combines to smell like the rotting corps of a smelly indian. Makes sense to me. The experiment has since been moved to the bathroom, where there is my toothbrush, handsoap, a toilet, a mens health magazine, and a lingering stench of dead indians. Dead, smelly indians.



If this blog seems sidetracked, it is because a female human just entered my dorm room, peeked her head in, said hello, and i continued to blog, not distracted by her female-ness. Then her boyfriend walked in. I continued to not be distracted. She responded by saying "Well I am going to leave, because you aren't looking at me, so you obviously don't want me to be here."



I replied by saying, "meh."



I think I just figured out why I don't have any friends.



It's cuz my dorm smells like dead people.


If you have not had the privledge of doing laundry in the dorms at EOU, I strongly recommend you try it sometime. Or, just wash your clothes in a vat of pig vomit and human urine. It is technically the same thing. For some reason, every time you take your clothes out of the washer, they smell worse than when they went in.

I have conducted COUNTLESS comprehensive studies on this particular subject, and I have reached ONE highly scientific, sophisticated solution.

There are little elves in the washing machine, that dance around when the door closes and disappear when the door opens. These elves happen to have Irritable Bowl Syndrome, and are particularly flatulent when exposed to cotton.

Being that most of my clothes are indeed composed of cotton, I put the clothes in, close the door, and those little bastards dance around, giggling and laughing, farting and shitting all over my clothes! Except it is invisible shit, because Elves are magical, and they can make their shit disappear at any moment. I know it sounds alot more likely that "Maybe the soap filter is broken," or "Maybe you didn't use detergent, you dumbass," but I PROMISE these little elves are to blame.

Little elves dancing around in a washing machine is normal enough, but today, something ABnormal happened in the laundry room.


I put my clothes in, just like any other day, and 36 minutes later, when i took them out, I had 2 new size medium buck hunting t-shirts, and some underwear and socks that would be tight on a 12 year old girl.

My first thought was, "Oh god, these damn elves left their tiny garments in the washing machine, and now they are gonna be pissed, cuz I messed with them, and these crazy little elves will undoubtedly haunt my dreams for the next 72 hours."

Then...I took a step back and started thinking rationally. Realistically, the elves probaly got frisky INSIDE of the washing machine, and gave birth to some new garments. Baby garments that endorse buck hunting and Led Zepplin.

The first shirt read "If you are what you eat...then I'm a 250 pound BRUISER!"And it had an illustration of a Buck wearing the exact T shirt that it was displayed on. Which was really confusing, cuz if you are a Buck, why would you be eating another Buck? Unless your name is Michael Redd or Charlie Villanueva, who are both well-known to be Cannibals. And I'm pretty sure Andrew Bogut is Australlian, and everyone knows what happens down under, stays down under. Especially cannibalism. Or something like that...

The second shirt read "Led Zepplin."

The boxers and socks read "I would not fit most normal sized humans comfortably."

Turns out it was my suitemates clothes, who is very short, listens to Led Zepplin, and hangs out with Michael Redd. It all makes sense now.

If you have never gone to www.dictionary.com and clicked the pronounciation key on random words, you haven't lived. And if you haven't lived, you are dead. And if you are dead, and reading this blog, you are a ghost and you should stop haunting me right now. Or use your ghost internet time on something more useful, like pronouncing random words on dictionary.com.

Anyway, I highly recommend giving up speaking entirely, and only using the pronounciation key as a means of communication. It is more personal than text messaging, and alot easier than actually using your vocal cords, so next time you are carrying around your laptop, click obscene words to use for people you don't like, and words like "Handsome" "Young Man," and "Bubble," when speaking to me.

Why handsome? Because the pronouncer does a poor job pronouncing the -some part, so when you play it out loud, it sounds like...

"Hand Young Man Bubble."

Everyone knows conjunctions are overrated, and talking like a caveman is bad ass. Which in reality means good. But saying good ass doesnt have the same effect.

The next person that walks into my dorm room and says "Wow...it's really plain in here," I will personally skin them, and plaster them on my wall, which is ultimately ironic because THEY are the ones complaining about how I don't have any posters up, but THEY will BE the poster, which is equally hillarious if it was not illegal. But Oregon has some crazy laws, so I suppose I will abide by them.

To fantasy basketball.

Peace.