publicatin’ buggin’ tracin’

Tonight’s dinner consisted of a honey bear and peanut butter eaten straight out of the jar. It was the tastiest and most efficient meal I’ve ever eaten. When you think of college you think of a kid slumped in a nasty orange silverfish infested couch, stolen from the UMD music lounge, watching Ren and Stimpy, feet propped up on the coffee table, with a knife playing out its existence as a spoon and an upside down honey bear draining into his mouth.

Response has been wildy in favor of the Porcupine article. Casual conversation in the hallway now mentions my website, “hosted on some site about a house.” Brian Perez read it in Wind Ensemble and was crying (hopefully in laughter) by the time his bass clarinet entrance came up. If things play out perfectly I will have five articles in the next Statesman, but things usually don’t play out the way I don’t expect them to. Any way, I’m buggin’! Extra thanks goes out to you dedicated Cromlechians. It is here that I have been honing my pen for public minor consumption, and I appreciate your patience (especially with sentences such as in the paragraph above) and laughter and occasional prod in the belly to “update Cromlech, you mother-bastard!”

The Tracer’s license plates finally arrived and they’re excellent. I love three-letter probability matrixes because they sometimes spell out cool things. As a result, my car is now named HAL 9000. All I gotta do is figure out how to make it talk.

Good evening Dane.

“Evening HAL. How are things?

Everything’s running smoothly. And you?

“I’m quite good, HAL. Let’s go do some grocery shopping.”

I’m sorry Dane, I don’t have enough information.

“Oh, sorry. HAL, let us go to Mount Royal and buy some over-priced eating goods made of salty meat by-products.”

Are you sure you are making the right decision?

“Uhh, yeah. Can I just drive to the store, now?”

You’re going to find that rather difficult.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I know you are but what am I?

“HAL, you are not programmed to respond to questions with a question.”

FATAL ERROR ERROR. /ODOR IN CAR IS MISCHARACTERIZE/

“Dammit HAL, you’re getting on my last nerve. And why hasn’t my automatic shoulder belt retracted yet?”

BAG OF WALLEYES HAS LEAKED

“HAL, please release my seatbelt.”

I’m sorry Dane. I’m afraid I can’t do that.

You can’t do it or you’re afraid you can’t? You’re a car. Why would you make that statement a function of your fear?

ERROR PAK CHOOIE UNF.

“Unhand me you foul scourge of the automotive industry, or prepare to- AUGGHHH! HAL! Retract the driver’s side razorblades this instant!

0011101000111001000101100000101000101000011101010101001

“AUGH! You know I can’t understand that!”

DESTROY

“HAL, please! I need that blood to live!”

The car will not be named HAL.