Freshman year in university during the mandatory writing class, we were asked to write a short story. I was reading a lot of Hunter Thompson at the time and decided to try my luck at the great writer’s gonzo style. I decided to write about a true life experience that had happened right before this assignment. My marks were dismal, and what I thought to be an entertaining story, was ridiculed by the class and the teacher (who didn’t wear shoes). I struggled, apparently, with the form and function of my writing style which was the last thing on my mind as I wrote the story. Even my good friend Pat sent me to the ground with his critique and I must admit that at this point in my life I had decided that writing was not my thing and I should stick to the nerd world. (Funny enough, as well as Pat and I get along, I still think he hates my blogs, but that is another entry.) So now, in blog form, is the story of one of the stupidest things I have ever done. There will be no pictures unfortunately, probably for the better of everyone involved. I will not use the real names of the people to protect them even though I doubt they read this blog.
