Its Sort Of My Job

My Reading List Grows Exponentially. Every Time I Read A Book, It'll Mention Three Other Books I Feel I Have To Read. It's Like A Particularly Relentless Series Of Pop-up Ads.

Unconditional Love Is An Illogical Notion, But Such A Great And Powerful One.

If My Former Self And My Current Self Met For Coffee, They'd Get Along Ok, But They'd Both Probably Walk Out Of The Starbucks Shaking Their Heads And Saying To Themselves, “that Guy Is Kinda Delusional.”

Let Me Tell You, Though: Being The Smartest Boy In The World Wasn’t Easy. I Didn’t Ask For This. I Didn’t Want This. On The Contrary, It Was A Huge Burden. First, There Was The Task Of Keeping My Brain Perfectly Protected. My Cerebral Cortex Was A National Treasure, A Masterpiece Of The Sistine Chapel Of Brains. This Was Not Something That Could Be Treated Frivolously. If I Could Have Locked It In A Safe, I Would Have. Instead, I Became Obsessed With Brain Damage.

I Prefer The Earlier Birth Control Techniques, Which Ranged From The Delicious (using Honey As A Spermicide) To The Aerobic (jumping Backward Seven Times After Coitus).