I should start a support group for girls who try really hard to focus on writing papers at 2am but can’t get anything done because they’re so busy playing with their own boobs. It’s a seriously problem, guys. I can’t be the only one. Right?
NO “TELEPHONES”. TALK TO EACH OTHER. FACE TO FACE ONLY. WRITE A LETTER. SEND A TELEGRAM TO YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 1860. LIVE.
NO ‘WRITING’… TALK TO EACH OTHER. THROW A ROCK AT YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 10,000 BCE. LIVE.
URGGA. ROU GRAAURH. RUH.
<SMACKS HANDS ON WALL WITH PAINT.>
NO ‘HIGHER BRAIN FUNCTIONS’ …USE YOUR REPTILIAN BRAIN
EAT YOUR MOM’S CORPSE SHE DIED TO PROVIDE YOU WITH SUSTENANCE
PRETEND YOU HAVE JUST AROSE FROM THE SEA
NO “MULTICELLULAR TRAITS”….. USE YOUR SYMBIOTIC MITOCHONDRIA
REPRODUCE ASEXUALLY, YOU’RE YOUR OWN PARENT
PRETEND IT’S 2BYA
NO “LIFE.” USE FUNDAMENTAL PHYSICAL FORCES TO FORM SPHERICAL OBJECTS REVOLVING AROUND ONE ANOTHER IN SPACE.
FUSE HYDROGEN INTO HELIUM USING GRAVITATIONAL PRESSURE TO PRODUCE HEAT AND LIGHT.
PRETEND IT’S 4.5BYA.
STABILIZE INTO EQUILIBRIA
NO PHYSICAL FORCES.
BE ALL MATTER IN THE UNIVERSE EXISTING AS A SINGLE INFINITESIMAL POINT.
PRETEND IT’S 13.8BYA, PRIOR TO THE DAWN OF ANYTHING A HUMAN COULD COMPREHEND AS ‘EXISTENCE’.
EXPLODE INTO EVERYTHING.
Show me something cuter than a lesbian wedding. I DARE YOU.
50% of me wants to be the type of girl who does yoga at night, and drinks green tea, and reads books, and wears cute pyjamas, and stays at home; while the other 50% of me wants to wear my sexiest outfit and go out doing lines of cocaine off strippers racks while dancing to dirty music until I black out.