As expected, I jinxed my profits away, finishing up the day a douchey .84%, from mid-singles in the morn. Most of my profits were sponged away by some stock called “Microtool.”

See, I’ve invested in many a ridiculous company in my day–some surely ran by charlatans, others, composed of men with great brainial fortitude. I remember buying TUNE in Oct of 05, shortly before punching my mustache off. Nutritional Systems. Recently, I bought the largest regional supplier of popsicle sticks and popsicle stick solutions, iiG. I shall now refer to this company as iiGangsta, or “iDubs.” Your cooperation in the issue is compulsory, and as such no thanks is necessary.

Of course, MVIS surpasses all these companies in all metrics, despite being intrinsically worthless, and with huge mortgage exposure on the books. If I had brains, I’d be in SWC and ABAT, both of which I understand have promised in their 10-k’s at least 10 “folds.”

I have a few things I’d like to share, both of which I’m sure are better than doing HW.

I take criminal justice as an elective to fill out my stupid acct this, acct that schedule. I already know a lot about crime in the sense I commit one every time I skate on campus, which is daily. My femiliberalnazi CJ teacher is 27, studying for her Phd, and for a feminist liberal, trying a little too hard to look sexy, which she does real good.

She has a nice face and figure, and she has arm tats and leg tats which, in circumstances, can be hot. This is one of those circumstance. Keep in mind, while at school (and even at home) I think about only 4 things: foodwise, cool shit like hamburgers, steaks, and crunk juice. In addition to foods, there are the constant thoughts as to how, and in what positions I would fuck all the bitches in my view, and even some out of my view, like Jessica Alba. Oh, and stocks and skateboarding, duh. Food is tits, half the girls at school are pretty, and I eat and sleep stocks + skateboarding–it’s just what I do. So that’s where my head is at.

So, midway through the lecture, the issue of antiquated laws came up. She cited the anti-sodomy laws still on the books of some states, forever solidifying the freaky ass-slapping nature of my CJ teacher. “To think,” she says, “that in the privacy of your own home you can’t have anal sex is ridiculous. That’s why I live in California.”

Construe that how you will, but I think she just told the class she likes it in the butt. I was gleeful. I want to ask her out, but I am sure she would slap me if I asked. Maybe I should go to her office hours, with my pity play* I just learned. Nah, she may be too classy for that.

Thought #2:
I am doing an acct. project right now called a Foreign Activities Project, and it’s due tomorrow, so I must stay up all night. Basically, it sucks worse than birthday dinner at Denny’s.

These asshole Krauts bought 85% of a Japanese wafer Company, the boring wafers, not the crunchy kind [wafer stocks on fucking fire, btw]. Japan doesn’t believe in logic and has no regard for GAAP. They prefer “Candyland” accounting, which they have endearingly titled “Japanese GAAP.”

Horseshit.

For instance, they wrote-up the value of Land, and PPE. That’s a no-no. They only wrote it up by like twice the cost. How does a factory go up in value? I mean, I get how it does, but traditionally, no gain or loss is shown at all until you sell it, but you know what–Fuck it. I’m moving to Japan, writing up my car, then selling it.

Then, after all the corrections are made, I have to convert all those forklift ¥ into radioflyer greenbacks, deciding which currency translation method is appropriate: current rate, or historical. And I have to do all the goddamn journal entries.

What I’m saying is, this F.A.P reminds me of the F.U.P.A., or, “Fat Upper Pussy Area” as it is colloquially known. Perhaps you’ve never encountered a FUPA–you’d be one of the lucky ones. In my world travels, throughout airports nationwide, and at every birthday Denny’s, there the mighty FUPA lurks in all it’s boastful resplendence.

No matter the angle of the glance, the FUPA mocks the casual observer, insulting all five senses, including hearing. The FUPA emits an extraordinarily high-pitched whine that isn’t detectable by man, though there are reports that those in close confines of a FUPA develop headaches and tension pain.

Notice the deceptive angle at which waistband delineates the stomach and skillful way the creases form the FUPA. That is for show–there a dichotomy here. The FUPA is a separate area, which bucks gravity and draw light forever into its cavernous crevasses. It can never be confused as a mere “extension of the stomach.” FUPA can carry things 10x their weight, and can actually unhinge the jaw, allowing a FUPA to swallow objects several times its size [read: people!].

Even famous people get the foop, as evidenced in this apples-to-apples comparison of the rare male-FUPA, as exhibited by Parcells and Weis.

Keep in mind, we didn’t even discover the male FUPA’s existence until 1986 when Paraguayan honeymooners caught one on tape while vacationing in the East Indies. There is no cure, but scientists argue over the mode of transmission for FUPA–evidence suggests a vector, but results are inconclusive.

In any case, should you chance upon one, calmly–but assertively–say, “I see your F.U.P.A. you disgusting slob, keep your gypsy venom and body odors away from me and my family.” Then, you run like heck in the other direction, in a zig-zagging route–it makes you harder to chase.

*refer to this for the pity play