When I lifted my beer the third time, I noticed

google translate through the tiny antenna in my nipple, and the foam in my beer glass translated to "Plan your work and work your plan." Hmm, a Sanskrit fortune cookie beer. I took

the week off because clearly I was wrecked. The tiny antennae in my nipple had changed my life. At first I hated nipple antennae, but after therapy I came to love the little bugger

s. The bad reception turned out to be fixed by tuning them with a quick tweek of my nipple. It was painful & pleasurable at the same time. People stared. The audio emanated from my

ears, making it impossible to hear anything else. Don't Fear the Reaper came on and I got into it. "Awwwww make that cowbell talk son! Ring a ding, DING DING DING!!" My bodyspeaker

complemented my Bose toes quite nicely. "This little piggy went to an Iron Maiden concert," I explained to my professor. As the metal escalated, my toes were overcome with the urge

to exhibit my hidden foot fetish. That got me thrown out of class by my professor right quick. I hadn't even gotten to the rap or dubstep toes. Man, what was his deal?

Next time I went to class I carried my shoes, walked directly up to the professor and said "next time, you'll be the one rubbing my dubstep toe.". His face turned to disgust as he

vomited all over my face and chest. He may have mistaken me for "camel-toe", but at this point I did not care. I slapped him as hard as I could across his face and watched him cry.

Then I started to cry too & he reached out to me & we held each other, sobbing, rocking back & forth...and in the distance, I thought I heard the lonesome sound of a train whistle.