Yeah, that's what Mr. X says about Professor X from the X-Men. If you don't know who that is, look it up on Wikipedia or something.
I'm really not sure how I can be annoyed with people for not posting on their blogs when my own posting is erratic, to say the least, but I am. Don't tell me, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Libby is a hypocrite. You're thinking, Libby should really post a lot more because I'm dying to read her amazing thoughts. You're thinking, The reason Libby doesn't blog enough is because Apple has probably already taken over her mind, body, and soul.
Well, I'm thinking, Tough cookies. Yes, I am. I am thinking about firm cookies, rock-hard cookies, cookies that are roughly the consistency of hardened concrete. It's fascinating here in my mind with all the cookies and me. They're Thin Mints, by the way. When I think of tough, nasty cookies, I think of Thin Mints. They're probably my least favorite Girl Scout cookies, after those peanut butter sandwich cookies.
Girl Scout Cookies (In Order From Yummiest To Nastiest):
- Thanks-A-Lots (Why don't they make them anymore? Why!?)
- Shortbread (Trefoils)
- Peanut Butter Patties (Tagalongs)
- Carmel DeLites (Samoas)
- Lemon Chalet Creams
- Reduced Fat Chocolate Chip (or possibly Low Sugar Chocolate Chip?)
- Dulce de Leche
- Thin Mints
- Peanut Butter Sandwiches (Do-Si-Dos)
Notice that I did numbers this time instead of bullet points. It's very special. I did it just for you, dear readers.
I'll have to do either really stupid or really genius with my life so I can write an autobiography and make a lot of money. This is assuming my various other career ideas don't work out for me, of course. I think most people do the stupid/genius thing first and then are compelled to write their autobiographies...I'm doing it out of order. Whatever. If I know I'm going to do it, I can start writing my autobiography now.
Wait, no, I can't. That's the point of waiting to write it until I've done something stupid/genius. There isn't really much to write about my life as of yet. Nothing important, anyway. Obviously I can write about my life; I'm doing it right now. I just can't write a full-length autobiography yet.
Mother made us soup today. Yes, the tyrannical dictator made soup. She does that a lot, actually. Just because we live in a dictatorship doesn't mean we're not well-fed. Unfortunately, the soup was a little messed-up. It was brownish-yellowish, tasted strongly of lemon, and looked exactly like vomit. Absolutely delicious. Mother is a wonderful cook; she's just unable to make lemon rice soup. It's not that bad, really. I doubt that most people can make lemon rice soup. It's a talent.
The idea that people are reading this at this very moment sort of creeps me out. (Hi, people!) Anyway, I know that of course I'm only writing this for you people, but really. You're reading my words. In fact, many people who I don't even know could be reading my words. It scares me because I'm easily scared.
To all the people reading this, hi again. Also, I want to know who you are. Obviously I know who some of you are (hi cousin; hi Liss) but there could conceivably be people I don't know reading this. So write your names for me, please, as comments. I feel under-appreciated when no one leaves comments for me. I've always been a little annoyed by people who always beg for comments or whatever, but now I know how they feel.
I have nothing more to write. You know, I wrote more in my notebook before I started this blog. Words flowed like honey from my fingertips. Ew, not, they didn't. They flowed, just not liked honey. That would be nasty. But now I write less and less. It's truly terrible. And it's all this blog's fault.
The soup was indeed horrendous.
ReplyDelete--The Tyrannical Dictator