The 411 on the 411

Alright. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. In fact, I probably hate you much more than you hate me. I mean, you don’t even know me. But I know you all to well. You are the live journal. I’m Lynk, Viewtiful Lynk. Just finishing up a most horrible little break here stuck in Norhole. I hate this place. Not so much the town. Just this house. Uncomfortable, always too warm, and filled with ignorant people I’d rather not get involved with. But this isn’t about me. This is about you. The viewer. The Viewer of that which is Viewtiful, me. I can already tell that you and I will not get along. Why? Because you are reading someone’s live journal. A journal is for personal use, and not to be read by another, unless of course you are trapped on a computer generated island where the only way to get off is to follow the clues on the journal pages you just happen to find scattered along the island. Myst, for all of you who are stupid. I hate to be so negative, but there is a good chance that right now you are either confused and/or hurt. Well get over it, I’ll send you some Rugrats bandaids and we’ll get on our way, shall we?

Tommorrow I leave back for Oneonta. For another five wonderful weeks of dealing with ignorant drinkers, braindead co-eds, and the wonderful company of the God Quad. My fellow quadmates and I have had a great year so far. Well, for now, I am going to end this little entry. I hope you all talk about it tommorrow in your forums and at your water coolers during your lunch break.


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