Today was Saint Patrick's Day.
Oh man, it's my favorite day. A joyous day! It's frickin' sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet like butter- but wait! I can't believe it's not butter! In reality, it's a chocolate bar attached to a Red Bull jetpack fueled by hydrogen peroxide. It just tasted like butter because it smelled like blood.
Mmm, butter. I remember the first time m' momma made buttah for me. When she told me to snort it, I told her that snorting butter was bad, but she hooked me up with m' favorite food right there and then, whether I liked it or not. Tasted like Google, smelled like Reddit, and made me feel as famous as MySpace.
So where was I? Oh yeah- Saint Patty's Day!
They say that on Saint Patty's Day, birthrates skyrocket over Houston's dead body, but hoo-wee, what man would ever be able to properly handle his wife after the day of Patrick? Men were simple… to the eyes of women, but in reality, both sexes were uniquely complex when it came to personalities and interests. Most of the time, at least. Men liked to watch some fine episodes of Rugrats, while women watched WWE all day. I cri evritiem.
Then there's the Trans, who watch both Rugrats and WWE. Dunno if Glynda's a Trans, but I always suspected her getting a hardening whenever she looked up and down at the young and fine Jaune Arc. He's a lady-killer without even knowing. Walks around with a white dress thrusting his hips at the speed of sound goin' "Fab. U. Lous," all day long, all night long. Maybe Jaune is a Trans as well. That'd be nice because ol' Glynd's probably a Trans.
But I don't like to stick to touchy subjects for too long. Nnn nn. No, I hate, hate, hate bein' all touchy. It's like pouring a bunch of melted chocolate all over your cup of coffee. That ain't good. Wanna know why?
Because it's not chocolate. It's actually shit.
Speaking of crap, Miss Rose, a promising individual back at m' academy, gave me a cake made out of shit. It was shitty in a good way. Not only did she shape something out of shit, but she also let me experience the most pleasant kind of shit. In fact, it was the first shit that went through my mouth instead of my butthole. N' I realized that when she gave me the cake, the shit was actually hers. Indirect kissing right there, people. I'm a rude mofo for taking her first kiss.
Uns.
Now where was I? Oh yes; we were talking about chocolate.
Putting the matter of shitty cakes aside, I met a girl who gave me chocolate. She said she "literally" constructed it for three days.
And I just felt so damn mad.
People literally do everythin'. They literally fly across the skies, literally take pisses for thirty seconds straight, literally knock each other up- everythin's literal. And the next thing you know, after I literally screamed at my students with my coffee in hand, some smartasses decided to talk about how they figuratively could not get out of their bed.
I hate people.
There ain't no purpose in liking 'em. The world just makes you love the people you see in porn because everyone just seems so willing to do anything there. If life was a porn, everyone would do just fine, but nooooooooooo, Obama hates Brazzers more than my mother covering her anus with a bunch of breast pads because I don't even.
Speaking of which, I had the chance to brazzer Oobleck, but then I decided I didn't want my pride to start talking as much as he did.
Man, I feel really out of it.
Now where was I?
Oh yeah.
Saint Patty's Day.
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I just noticed I was typing this on a PDF file. Dayum.
"Headmaster Ozpin?" The familiar voice of Glynda Goodwitch asked curiously. "What might you be doing in front of your scroll?"
The headmaster looked up from his scroll, remaining seated collectively at his office as he gave Glynda a good smile. With a composed look, he asked Glynda,
"Where's the D?"
They proceeded to have the angriest sex ever. Ozpin had four children.