Irony's been bugging me to post something for the past few days, but I actually had work to do, so I held off. But now I only have reading that I'm not gonna do anyway, so here I am. It's raining. Rainy Boston isn't fun. It increases the surliness of Boston drivers by about 10% and now they have puddles to splash you with if the light changes when you're 3/4ths of the way across the street and run the rest of the way so you don't -die-.
An Audi does not mean you're entitled to run over a girl. You need at least a BMW for that kind of thing. And even then you can only run over the ugly ones.
What else...This past weekend my friend and I saw a play called What The Butler Saw, which was quite entertaining eventhough there was no butler. That guy who always plays really snotty British men was in it. You know, the one who was in charge of all the artwork in the White House in that...one episode of the West Wing. I'm guessing he was in Frasier too. Because...snotty English guy...Frasier.
Two of the kids in my Conflict and Dispute class were all over the Boston papers a couple days ago: The Herald, the Globe and..heh..the Metro, craprag that it is. They were at the state house for the whole gay marriage thing and were apparently infront of every cameraman there. The Globe's caption said something about them being a couple and instead of walking into class bragging about how she was all over the papers Girl In Paper walks in and looks at Guy In Paper and says 'A couple? Since when are you not a big flaming ball of queer?' I want to know why they all had photos of an...allegedly straight couple under a headline about gay marriage. I'm sure there was a big pile 'o disgruntled gayfolk to photograph. And they're generally pretty. Prettiest protest you ever did see. Ah well. The mystery of the press.
We're doing obscenity cases in First Amendment now. They're much more fun than seditious libel. Mostly because sometimes they reference a case called Memoirs of a Girl of Pleasure v. the State of Massachusetts. If you imagine them as Transformers it's really amusing. Almost as amusing as picturing 'Chief Justice Burger.' Hee. He serves you justice, flame-broiled.
Also, to the person that set off the fire alarm while I was in the shower today: I will find you. And you will pay. You ruined my exfoliation process.

I don't know where the friggidyfuck Irony is. Maybe she wandered into the wardrobe again. She does that sometimes. Anyway, my First Amendment midterm is tomorrow so I hope you'll all allow me the opportunity to rant (Ha! You have to! Because there's nothing you can do to stop me. And even if you tried, you couldn't. Because my rights are protected by the First Amendment. So take that, bitches.)
Right. Anyway. I hate the First Amendment. I also hate the Fourth Amendment. And the Tenth Amendment. And sometimes the Fourteenth Amendment. And Article I, section 8 and all of Article III of the Constitution. I hate the Supreme Court. Schenck? Yeah, I hate you. And you, Gitlow. And you, Terminiello. Oh, and Pentagon Papers? I hate you most of all. I hate actual malice and seditious libel. I hate reasonable accuracy and schoolchildren who wear black armbands to school to protest the Vietnam War and get suspended and take their cases to courts. I hate the fact that last night I dreamt about Near v. Minnesota. My dreams are places for spinning green paper plates and villains that turn into donuts! They are not a place for the Constitution and public nuisance laws! Ever!
I can just picture my professor, that wily mix of Lewis Black and Toby Zeigler and The Almighty Prince of Darkness, rubbing his hands together and cackling with glee at the fates of the twenty students that were too stubborn to drop his class. I can see him thinking up vague, muddy questions about the legal reasoning of New York Times vs. The United States when there IS no legal reasoning. I can see him filling up his fountain pen with the red, red blood of former students so that he can slash our answers and place angry question marks next to our creative language.
I can see it all now!
Err. Yeah...I'm gonna go buy some cookies. And move to Cuba, where they don't have no stinkin' freedom.