Hugo Out Of Turn

  Okay.  I couldn't resist.  I simply had to post out of turn.  Call me Joe if you want, but, regardless of opprobrious epithets (Hah!  My all-time favorite phrase!), I simply must post.  So, with that out of the way...
  Hi!  It's official:  Joe and I are actually making face-to-face contact today, for the first time in about three months!  I am so excited!  At noon, I am going to pick him up from class, and we are going to... stand around and make awkward attempts at conversation, probably.  Or I will talk constantly about appallingly inane subjects, and Joe will say, "Mm-hmm.  Yeah.  Cool.  That's nice.  Really?"  Or perhaps it will be the other way 'round.  I'm not entirely certain.  At any rate, we are going to have a little mini-reunion!  (It may seem redundant to use both "little" and "mini," but for a mini-reunion one must have at least three hobos, so this will truly be an abnormally small mini-reunion, as it involves only two.)
  Other than that, I don't really know what to say.  I kind of posted on a whim.  Oh!  Here's something:  (is it just me, or am I having colon-mania today?)  I will be eighteen in two days!  I'll be able to vote!  And join the Communist Party of the United States of America!  And buy cigarettes!  Not that I want to (buy cigarettes)!  I know that this news of my true age is probably going to shock all of you virtually nonexistent virtual blog readers, as we three hobos of Orient have always tended to behave in a very mature and manly fashion, but we are, in truth, just a bunch ("just a couple" would probably be more appropriate now) of fresh-faced striplings, still wet behind the ears and all that.  Even Bebo's five-star beard is really just a determined stubble with carefully matted extensions.  Oh, dear, he will probably kill me for telling you that.  Well, maybe not.  It is very difficult to kill people long-distance...
  So, yes, I will be eighteen.  It is the high point of my life thus far.  Not that I can really do anything but vote, though--I can't afford to move my box out of my parents' backyard, and they would kill me if I got a tattoo or dyed my hair purple.  Ah, how woeful is my existence...
  Dear, dear, dear, it really was extremely irresponsable of me to waste this time in posting.  I have so much homework that I have not read a novel since September.  Alack!  Have you, VNVBRs (See above), ever noticed the propensity of college professors to gleefully assign homework as though their class were your only class?  I have piles of reading, mountains of workbooks, heaps of lab books, blizzards of quizzes, and two major tests next week, in addition to a very demanding term paper for which I must read  eight books by next Thursday.  College life, to take Hobbes a little out of context, is "nasty, brutish, and short."  And yet, and yet, for whatever reason, I love college.  It has become my hobby, my lover, my favorite cousin, and my most absorbing novel, all in one.  I can't think of anything that I would rather be doing.  Strange, isn't it?
  Well, I really must go.  Behave your virtually nonexistent virtual selves,
  Your affectionate uncle,
   Hugo