Final Muffins: Muffiny Fate

So, it's been about a month, and you know what's happened in that month since you were last educated about vaccines and their relationship to playboy models?  Well, SHIT GOT REAL.  That's what happened.  People have been maced in the fucking face over technology that was new before the housing market and the global economy got into that huge bitching contest back in '08.  But, you know what else?  No, fuck no you don't.  You didn't even know what I just told you, you might not even speak American anymore, for all I know, you think we're back in the middle ages.  And that, dear children, is because FINALS WEEK is once again upon us.

Look at this penguin.
Look upon him.
AND DESPAIR.

Yes, FINALS WEEK, that cheery christmasy time of year when people are festive, decorations are hung, eggnog is nog'd, reindeer are suddenly culturally relevant, people stop giving a fuck about Lady Gaga and listen to surprisingly inappropriate classic christmas music.  Also, if you're in college during this time of year, this wintery wonderland of magic and happiness, rife with elves and polar bears to be boxed, might, just might, look a bit like hell.

That's right, Hell.  And I don't mean fucking Kansas.  But that's damn close.

And right now, this personal hell isn't going to make any damn sense to you.  Because your brain is fucking fried.  It's like you just got drunk off history and differential equations but no amount of vomiting will make it better, because history's a bitch, and a half, well, more like a bitch with a midget bitch as a pet, that the full-sized bitch rides like a bitchy steed into battle, so she can smite the whores.  Now, why were the whores smited?  Because they represented the hope that your brain had.  And now they're gone, disemboweled and feasted upon by midget history bitch gremlins.

Maybe the 1950's weren't so bad after all.

So, your hopes and dreams are all belong to the bitches' intestines.  And those bitches be crazy, so, you don't really want them back.  BUT WHAT YOU DO WANT.  Is FREEDOM.  Cuz this is AMERICA.  And you shall look upon the wasteland that the bitches of history and science have wrought upon your personal hellscape and you shall yell into the horizon "Yippie Ki Yay-- MOTHERFUCKERS!!!"  And you shall give no more fucks.  Because all your fucks have been given, or maybe there were simply none to give in the first place, alas, these existential questions are not for us to ponder, for the ass is bountiful, there are many kicks to be made, and time is short.

So, the ass is plentiful, the kicks abound, and time is the limiting reagent is this equation of intellectual disembowelment.  You know what this means.  Your mission, if you choose to accept it, and you will because you're not a Canadia and are in no way related to a certain Mr. Travolta, is to kick Mr. Hawking's ass until relativity is your pretty little bitch.  And then you shall bend time to your will and you shall kick the asses until the ending of the age.  And when historians in the eons to follow discover the site where the ass was all kicked, they will look upon the site, they will examine the site, they will consult experts in assology, and they will conclude that the ass never even existed.

To be fair though, I wouldn't argue with free vodka.

But, the asses aside-- that's an issue for future assologists, not you, it is not for your enfeebled mind.  Your main concern: EVERYTHING IS TRYING TO KILL YOU.  I mean, it is finals week.  And before you can kick all the ass, you must survive-- EVERYTHING.  Particularly your own body.  Now, I've mentioned this before, but well, sleep is trying to kill you.  BUT, it is your right, as an AMERICAN, to try and kill it right the fuck back.  But sleep is all in your mind?  So how do you kill it, surely your mind is a good American?  Right?  FUCKING WRONG.  There's a damn commie living in there, fucking up your cerebrum, forcing you to try to make vodka from instant mashed potatoes and having you sign arms treaties with North Korea in your sleep while trying to develop an anti-capitalism blender: capitalist milk and ice cream in- sadness and socialism out- just like Sarah Palin.

Remember, Remember the 13th of December
Lawmower, disembowlment and cops.
For I know no reason, the Lawnmower Treason
Should ever have been stopped.

Oh, and your shower, that's trying to kill you.  You think that water's all falling on you benignly, with loveing kindness to wash away the foul stench of socialism that's permeated your very being as you've fermented all those long hours in the classroom.  NO.  That water is the real terrorist threat.  Every drop a suicide bomber.  And every dead skin cell washed away a casualty.  Beware!  For the shampoo is a detergent, and the water seeks only to eliminate your coefficient of friction keeping you firmly planted on this bit of capitalist soil so that gravity might work it's dark magics that it hath summoned forth from the dark realms where the tall grass waits with lurking monsters to devour thy ankles to feed the terror machines of the ancients.  All that to say: don't slip in the shower, or drop the soap, depending on where you're showering, and if you go in the tall grass then for fuck's sake don't pick Charmander as your starting pokemon, unless you enjoy being raped by Pidgeys.  Or hell, just use a fucking lawnmower-- SUPEREFFECTIVE BITCHES, but weak against rock types, they'll still fuck you up, and raise your insurance rates, and please, don't try to explain this to the cops, just shut the fuck up until you get an attorney; because I guarantee you the cop won't give a damn about how many badges you think you've earned by mowing the school's lawn 36 times at 4am and by running over every squirrel and freshman in a 4 mile radius, he'll give you a sobriety test, and when you fail, you can explain how close your lawnmower is to evolving into a fucking field tractor.

Oh, and don't use me as your one phone call- I'll say you have a meth lab.

Somehow, we taught this to a fucking duck.
And Sarah Fucking Palin, which might be more impressive.

Oh, you're still stuck on the part where there's a disembodied commie living in your brain.  And you want to know how to kill it.... um.... honestly, my first thought is a grisly bear, but I'm not sure how the fuck you'd get on into your brain and sure as fucking hell don't have a damn idea how you'd get it back out, cuz once it's in, your spine is going to look like a stream of salmon descended straight from the heavens.  And you don't want a bear in your spine.  No one does.  Unless you're into that.  But that's... odd... I don't even want to know... forget I even said that.  BUT. What you could do with that bear is box it, put a big damn UPS label on it and ship it that commie's family and hold them for ransom against a motherfucking angry bear and see how dedicated to the Motherland that bastard really is.  And by 'that bastard', I mean your professors, they're the disembodied commies living in yo brain.  They're the ones that receive tenure based solely on how many of you they can make lose faith in America, Santa Clause, and Hershey's Chocolate.

If that were part of the immune system
the swine flu would have stayed the fuck
in swine and left our damn bacon alone.
THAT BACON WAS INNOCENT.

So yes, it's finals week, and everything is trying to kill you, particularly your own brain, literally, this time in a scientific way, because when you're drunk off history fighting the communism of math, your brain tends to stop giving a fuck, and when it does that, it releases stress hormones, to try to get you to stop giving a fuck as well, because clearly, you're giving out your fucks like a Santa Clause that lost his naughty list.  And what those stress hormones do is, well, a whole damn lot of things, but the part that can kill you, well, ONE of the parts that can kill you is that they suppress your immune system, so that anything can kill you, or at least make you miserable, or, things can team up and try to kill you, like an Iron Curtain Tag Team match from hell inside yo cells, with MRSA and H1N1 fuckin' yo shit up like it's 1999 and the governator's still making movies.

Oh, and refrigerators, never trust them, or fuck them.  That's some good advice to live by.