Nothing

I really have nothing to say, I just thought I'd write something since Nolan and Devin are showing me up so badly. By the way, Nolan, we really only make fun of you because you don't write that often. You should actually be jealous of Devin for starting the blog and be trying to snatch away all the attention you can. That's how it'd be if my sisters and I were writing a blog together, though in our family the number of Christmas and birthday presents are directly proportional to the amount of attention one relieves. I usually win because I write letters to my relatives, while my sisters are usually busy with gym or their boyfriends or having an actual life, or something like that.

I do have some good news in that I have an interview tomorrow for a scriptwriting position at KBYU. That's pretty sweet, even if it is just the BYU station. However, the BYU television office is on the extreme outskirts of town, so I might not have an interview at all, but instead just have some creepy dude posing as a television executive so he can lure young women out to remote locations to rape and maul them, then feed him to his dogs. That scenario got out of hand there, and now I'm kind of scared. If no one hears from me after Tuesday night it means I've become the outlet to a sick fetish, and I'm now literally dog meat. Come save me. Please.

Since I have an interview tomorrow I probably shouldn't be up this late dinking around on a blog that nobody reads, but I didn't want to be outdone by Nolan and Devin. Stupid redheads with their stupid jobs that give them stupid money so they can buy stupid Macs. I take that back, Macs aren't stupid; they're awesome. Someday when I'm thirty-two I might have enough saved up to buy a mac for myself. Even then I'll most likely have to buy one second hand.

I've run out of things to say that aren't the standard complaints about school, work, and poverty in general. I could also complain about the fact that people keep getting married without telling me so when I invite them to something they reply with a "oh, I'm sorry, I have to whisper sweet nothings into my spouse's ear that night", to which I can only go "wha--?" I sound like an idiot, but they're the ones whispering sweet nothings.

Here's a joke:

What's the difference between an English actuary and a Sicilian actuary?
The English actuary can tell you how many people will die in a given year, the Sicilian actuary will tell you their names.

I was going to write out a more humorous one, but I got lazy all of a sudden.

Here's a picture:



It's my sister back when she was cute. Just kidding, she still is, just in a more grown up way.

And now, Goodnight.