pointing the finger

Under pressure from my more loquacious blog-mates, I've "decided" to make my contribution.

My roommates are a suspicious bunch. Just the other week Andy accused us of planting women's clothing in his recently washed laundry. After about forty minutes of deliberation and many attacks on the characters of our mothers, I realized that an email had gone around about laundry stolen from the laundry room - the clothes almost certainly belonged to our RA.

Lessons learned:

1. Since abandoning his laptop, Andy has become significantly more insulated.
2. Before accusation consider situation - the evidence may point to you.
3. Our RA owns a blue striped tank-top.
   

Science writing and Bill Titus have worn away at my means of expression.

Next time on Mountain Man:
BREAKING NEWS: K. P. might buy a cell phone (!)
The fate of Hubert
-plus-
Class of 2010: the GoldenEye rennaissance.

"God, it's so gratifying"
-J. F.

-Andrew

But how will I cope?

After a long silence I finally have the courage to write again. The leafy Hubert, my only confidant in this stink-hole of vice, has suffered greatly from his association with them; its greener parts are now bespeckled with a sickly brown. Soon they'll take it away.

This happens right after Mark fended off the alligator with a large stick. There are three notable things in this strip:

1. I contend that having a giant alligator a few feet from chomping me to bits would be enjoyable under certain circumstances, such as in certain dreams, arcade games, or realities in which the alligator has no teeth or biting power, much like when a fish nibbles your toes sticking in the water. In this case, the alligator would probably make a NOM NOM noise, much like a LOLcat (or LOLLIGATOR in this case). Mark should more carefully define restrictions on his statements rather than recklessly spouting generalities that may not apply to all situations.
   
2. HOLY HELL! GIANT POSSUM ON THE LOOSE IN PANEL TWO!
3. I suggest that wearing a pink pantsuit is rather unsuitable anytime, anywhere, but especially in a wetland, where fashion sense is critical.
4. I would suggest that panel three will lead to romance, but I know better. Mark is never, ever unfaithful to anything.

-Kevin

Meatball Madness

If there's anything that eating at the LDC teaches me, it's just how many people I don't know.

-Kevin

Assorted Reflections

A significant portion of the evening involved moving apples in plastic bags around campus, but now that they are all safely located in Parish 103--and taste-tested by one Andy McMahon--that chapter comes to a close.

In the meantime, things appear to be trucking on, beginning to settle into the rut that is 4th week right before the storm of mid-term. This rut is most aptly demonstrated by the collection of once- (or, occasionally, twice-) used glasses and mugs adorning Andrew's coffeetable in the center of our social space, as well as by the general reluctance to pick up the lawnchair that's been strewn on the floor next to Jon's desk for well over a week.

I can hear Peter elaborate about his Argentine central banking notions from down the hall, and so will retire for the evening. Not because of Argentine anything, but rather that when Peter's returned to Parish, it means that I'm up much too late, as a rule. So, I will heed my better judgment and call this post a raucous success.

Andy asks first, however, what that smell is. I, completely ignorant, am unable to provide a suitable reply.

Bis Morgen,
Parisher Bergmann Einhundertdrei