Thursday, January 7, 2010

Phd in Fatology

I have a little friend. He is a studious little fellow. His main area of expertise is Fatology, with a minor in Cellulitology. He is well versed. If they had a degree, my boy here would be an effin' docta.

Of all the delectable delights available to me, crème brulé, macarrons, tarte à la fraise and of course, the timeless croissant... I choose you, my faithful friend.

Stay away chouquettes. Not here, bon bons. Move along mousse au chocolat. I'm no traitor.

You've been there for me since day one in M. Fiorina's class. Saved me from starving to death during the subjunctive review session, and helped me keep my eyes open during the film strip of the gardens of France (a painful experience which I've thankfully blocked out). I owe you so much, yet... give so little.

I must admit... I abandoned you during the holiday's almost entirely. You sat on a shelf. Cried, NAY sobbed, probably. I don't know if you'll ever forgive me, but... if you could... I swear never to leave you again... until I start to get fat... then I'll most definitely break up with you, but UNTIL THEN... I'll be there.

I heart you Petit Ecolier, and I will stand by you, even if eating from your cracker of knowledge means my ass will blow up until it looks like this woman's boobs.

PS - Vince, stop feeding me.


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