I AM the Sniffer!!!

  Yes, gentle readers, you read the title correctly (I would be very disappointed in you if you didn't; reading is, after all, what you do, and what you are known for, and what you have been named after, and so it would be quite pathetic if you could not do it correctly).  I am the Sniffer!  Have no fear, Bebo, I will go to Mexico and never come back; I do, however, ask that you pay me thirty dollars and put me through accelerated Spanish classes for the illiterate first (it simply would not do for me to turn up, in all of my sniffing, diseased, achy and feverish majesty in the Land of the Mexi-fries and not know how to pronounce vital words like burrito or enchilada).  And, yes, Bebo, since I know that you were wondering, I only became ill (making my poor, innocent hobo-mother ill in the process) and turned Sniffish in order to annoy you.  It was my sole intention.  Don't you feel loved?!?
  On a more serious note, I, Hugo, also known as various variations of Horrible (including, but not limited to, Horrific, Horrendous, Horrid, and Horrifying), am officially the stupidest person in my Logic class.  Yes, ladies and gentlehobos, it is the day that we were all eagerly anticipating!  It is only the smilingest of good fortunes that has allowed it to happen so soon.  I rather suspect that that particular brand of positive influence was assisted mightily by sleep deprivation, fever, stuffy nose, compulsive sneezing, aches and pains and a nagging headache, but it would be uncharitable and graceless to refrain from giving it the lion's share of the credit.  That particular brand of good fortune must have known that making a complete and perfectly irremediable fool of myself in my favorite class was the one thing that would bump this day up from mere perfection to the level of the sublime. 
  Wow.  What a digression!  Usually it is Joe who complains about his health (and then I complain about Joe, and Bebo complains about both of us, and I retaliate by complaining about Bebo, and it is just the perfect triangle of cardboard-box-dwellers' love). 
  In Economics the other day (Wednesday, to be precise.  Unless it was Friday.  Or was it Monday???), I was present at the birth of a salubrious new term:  Hoboism.  Yes!  So, now, I can say to Bebo when he annoys me, "Gee, Bebo, you're such a hoboist!"  And when my mother accuses me of living in a pigsty, I can excuse myself: "But, Mama, what do you expect from a hoboist?!"  Or, when I do not complete my homework, fail a test, or behave like an utter buffoon in front of a whole lecture hall full of half-awake college students at eight o' clock in the morning, I have a blanket explanation that works every time:  "Sorry, I was too busy practicing hoboism to study/sleep!!!"
  Ah, how convenient it is to be a hoboist and live in a cardboard box!
  ~Hugo