I am all about the symbolism right now, oh yes I am. I handed in my thesis. I prefer to say it in the words of Joel Vietch:

I love to eat a fishy
It's a little bit of class
Eat a little fishy
Shit the bastard out me ass!

NEUROMATHS

Oh yes I handed that bastard in. I did not sleep (sleep is for soft-headed types and I have a noggin full of concrete, yes CONCRETE, for which I could win a prestigious award, bitch) but I did hand in that large flutherbucker with a dramatic flourish. As I was scribbling my details onto an essay cover sheet, the anticipation of posting it in the letterbox got the better of my friend Karen who tried to mount me, but that's a story for another day. It also may be true that I could have been heard to cheer loudly in the department corridor at that very moment. I was not alone: there were at least fifteen of us crammed into one small space, leaping over frantic bodies in an effort to get to the stapler, which, incidentally, was MINE and FULL OF STAPLES, thank God.

Due to intense concentration my finely stapled and firmly rejected fish essay, I have not washed in a long time. In the same way that my brain has blocked out the disturbing scenes of The Passion of the Christ, I seem to have forgotten how to wash myself: the tangled hair thing is a particular stumbling block.

So now I go: there are PARTIES AHOY. Yes there are. (But not them dirty ones.)