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Send Me An Exchange Student, Dammit! before/after
Running low on weed, not getting enough sleep, and my email is fucked.
This is my existance.
I received a district mailing on hosting foreign exchange students.
This piqued my interest, as I need my lawn mowed. And as soon as I have the trench dug in the crawl space, I'll be ready for my next exchange student. Keep sending them to me.
"I don't know...I think she was on drugs like PCP...she shreiked and ran out of the house one night, never to be seen again. I'm heartbroken about this, and the only way to cope is to Get Right Back On The Horse. Send me another exchange student post-haste."
There is a certain warped appeal in bringing a naive foreigner into my twilight-zone experience. I can only giggle to think about whomever shows up at my door, writing home to their parents in the late of the night, as I and my roomates screech about the house full tilt at four a.m. with a heads full of booze, bizzarre concoctions, and bad ideas. Bursting crazily into their room with wild eyes and loud demeanor, in a futile attempt to cheer them up which comes off in such a frighteningly decadent manner that this foreigner flees the house and never touches American soil again.
Send me exchange students, dammit.
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