Flying Fucks

Arkansas has proven itself to keep things interesting.

I went on an adventure last night.

First,

Skate Park.

Which is essentially the only place in Benton, Arkansas where things are always popping.

Popping (verb) (Pawp-e-ng) 1) To constantly have action 2) The sound effect of someone getting punched in the face

Both definitions occur.

One of my other friends applied for Tulane. I hope she gets in.

But she only has a 25 on her ACT and has court for battery charges this weekend..

It's times like this that I hope Tulane takes location into consideration.

I was a lucky duck to get out of here with no physical scars or a police record.

So Will took me off with him on an adventure.

Never follow a man into his house when he is the only one home.

I felt like my cat.

He leaped on top of me and started tickling the living shit out of me and refused to stop.

When I tried to crawl away, he would drag me back to him.

Then he kept wrapping himself around me and wouldn't let me go.

He kept putting his face in my neck so I went turtle mode.

He pinned me down to the floor at one point and was looking at my face, so I covered my mouth with my sweater.

I love my skating bro's, but I've been at the park for years.

I know better than to let one kiss me.

So I spoke.

And I contrasted the situation with some little jackass, Little Devin, at the skatepark.

I asked how Will would feel if Little Devin were doing this to him.

Will stopped.

Then we went to Narcotics Anonymous.

I like it there.

Not going into any more depth there.

Then we went to a Kappa Sigma party.

I had two beers,

danced,

and then had an intellectual conversation about:

Latin American policies,

Electrical engineering,

Neuroscience,

Islam,

Psychology,

US politics,

Communism vs. Socialism vs. Capitalism

and

the possible solutions to many circumstances.

I kinda felt bad for Will.

He kept coming outside and looking at me with a hopeless, confused look on his face.

Same with the pretty blonde girl.

I think she was interested in the guy I was talking to.

She'll get him though.

I am no competition.

In the game of love, I sit back and watch.

If I get trapped,

I find strangers that live far distances away from me to crush on.

That way,

I can't get hurt and they won't know nor give a flying fuck.

And now I have a question,

How the hell would a flying fuck work?

Would it take far more muscle mass?

Could you die from the strenuous activity mixed with the small amount of oxygen?

I want to interview a bird.