kiralamouse | Good times

So anyway, I got to take a nap Thursday afternoon -- four hours! -- and it just made my week. It helps that I've gotten to spend some time with my dear friend "Madam Hilda", who is still trying to recruit me for her brothel; I claim that I'm only willing to hit the sack with Geoff Chaucer and Will Shakespeare, she says I ought to go to bed with Catullus. She should know, but I'm not willing at the moment either to study the necessary Latin nor to go to bed with someone so... explicit. Of course, we have agreed that we really ought to get off this necrophilia trip.

Hilda: Yeah, you wouldn't have any problems with it. Just grab Chaucer out of Westminster Abbey, I'm sure they won't mind, and bring him back home -- they won't ask any questions at customs...

Me: Yeah, except of course whether he's been with any cows lately. Mad cow disease and all.

Hilda: Of course; he's been trudging [trudging; to trudge? The slow, weary-yet-determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on...] through Scottish cattle pastures, never know what he might have picked up.

Perhaps we ought to drop that running joke about sleeping with our favorite writers, but frankly, I've already come to the conclusion that Classics majors are the sickest of twisted minds and that English and math majors are only just behind. We silly theoretical scholar-types. There's a reason that the brains who thought up the "silly Eenglish k-niggets" were Cambridge medievalists.

And now before I frighten anyone else, I sign off.

After briefly saying, WOW I didn't know my American Girls doll collection could be worth so much now...