After an evening of self-deprecating one-downsmanship and rhyming ice cream, we declare the New England dopefest a rousing success. You would have thought it was the Algonquin in the '30s, except the table was square. A grand time was had by all, and anybody who says otherwise is itching for a fight.
[andygirl channeling the spirit of Robot Arm]
or, rather, Robot Arm hijacking my computer.
[Geobabe speaks] Andygirl and Geobabe arrived at the restaurant and immediately commenced speculating about Robot Arm, since neither one of us knew a thing about him–his posts are, shall we say, less than revealing. He turned out to be quite personable, putting to rest our fears that he might have actually been Serlin or Concrete.
[back to andy]
My dorm room is… cozy. Or so they’re telling me. Secretly, I know they’re thinking “muhuhahaha! I don’t have to live in a small cube!”
Swiddles, we wanted to let you know that we invoked your absent self by spreading malicious rumors… er, I mean saying how much we missed you.
Pictures were taken. I’m expecting Robot Arm to pay my tuition in case they do not turn out well. Especially that one with the ice cream…