Like in that retarded poem we read together in Eng Lit class today. How utterly idiotic. It goes something like this: some dude goes outside of his house in the night and talks about how the moon rolls over his house. Then he says that he lied, and he’s the one rolling over the house. Or something. Only three lines into the poem and I’m already utterly confused. Haaaaah.

Okay, back to the poem. Having successfully traversed the first stanza, he starts talking about some random stuff that I don’t remember and can’t be bothered to go look back on. Heehee. Okay, that’s mean. Let’s look for the sheet. Dumdeedum. Here we go: at this point, I have abosolutely no jolly idea what’s going on anymore. Basically,  he’s describing his journey around the garden while trying to break the Guiness World Record for the longest line without adequate punctuation. Reading on (quite a difficult feat to perform easily considering the lack of punctuation. Let’s skip bits.)…suddenly, he’s going to sleep. WTF. Ok let’s not skip those bits. Reading back again…”A long moment stretches, the next one is not on time.” Wow, he really does have writer’s block. Erm, I think it rained. And then by some unecessarily complicated way, he’s gone back to bed. Wonderful. I just read a poem about a guy who travelled around his porch at night with rolling moons in the sky and long late moments. I am so sad.

I didn’t write about writer’s block in the end, did I? Well, I lied then. Like the poet and his freaking rolling moon. Blah.

I suddenly have an urge to play Neopets. So I shall be deserting you now. Trala.

Random Fact of the Week: Mrs. Butchart calls Macs ‘apples’. It’s very cute.