Good evening, colleagues…

Blogeagues? Fizzers.

You may recall me griping about how much I loathe the derpitty uneducated masses, pining often for the blissful realm of academe I once was proud to call myself a part of…

You may also recall that, ya know, I’m an effing weirdo.

Thus, I have decided that should I ever go back to school for a PhD, my dissertation will have to be focused on something interesting enough to hold my attention for 4 years (or 4 minutes, to start).

Wait, what?

I started to write up a potential thesis statement, but then I remembered that some girl recently choreographed a dance to Cyriak Harris’s Cows and surfed off to watch that instead.

It didn’t get me nearly as excited as the original, but I heart this chick for even going there. I was a choreographer in high school too. We could have been friends if we weren’t both such competitive dramatic betches… but I’m getting off topic.

Don’t feel like writing an artistic statement of intent? Enter ze ARTY BOLLOCKS GENERATOR:

Here’s my favourite, after about 65 LOLworthy clicks:

“My work explores the relationship between new class identities and urban spaces.

With influences as diverse as Camus and Francis Bacon, new combinations are created from both explicit and implicit meanings.

Ever since I was a child I have been fascinated by the theoretical limits of the human condition. What starts out as triumph soon becomes corroded into a hegemony of greed, leaving only a sense of chaos and the chance of a new synthesis.

As spatial phenomena become clarified through emergent and diverse practice, the viewer is left with an insight into the possibilities of our condition.”

Indeed, my friend.

It has been a long, challenging day. Bed time.

Tomorrow, a giveaway! Do you care? Does anybody even read this anymore? I haven`t checked the stats in forever. I am making some blog-related changes very very soon. Stay TOONED!

Over-giffing. No such thing.

PS – Would you rock these Lana platform boots?

Legitimately thinking about buying some… Or maybe these, these, these or these. Not these though. If I’m ever lucky enough to have Katy Perry’s job, on the other hand, glitter me up Sally.

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