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Mature Reves et toute le reste

Discussion in 'Journals' started by Salacious, Jan 3, 2016.

  1. Salacious

    Salacious Sovereign of Sweet Smut

    Likes Received:
    Local Time:
    3:04 PM
    I suck at journals, and at internal monologuing. So I'll just try to remember to write out whichever dreams I manage to remember that I don't write down for other reasons.

    Anyone who would like is welcome to comment.

    Seven generations of frogs. Fucking frogs. Not even big ones, no that would be too easy. Seven generations of frogs about the size of the nail on my little finger. And what do they live in? Mud. They're the same color too, bland little mud-brown frogs. It couldn't be something cool, like dragon flies. Or something a little more placid, like grubs or worms. Do you know how hard it is to sex and sort 500 frogs? I curse my undergrad research professor profusely under my breath. I had wanted Dr. Wade, he was looking at the importance of several hormone pathways in the development of muscular atrophy. That was cool. That was science. Instead I have to breed these muddy little bastards over the course of eight weeks. Even better, I get to kill all the little bastards. That's of course after I've sorted and bred each generation. Sorting dead frogs would be much easier than sorting the live ones.


    I'm on Filial Generation three (don't be fooled by the science-y sounding name, it's any generation following the first AKA Parental generation). 8 AM, 1092 healthy, annoying, chirruping little brown frogs. They're almost cute almost, I make it through my day by daydreaming about suffocating them with ethanol, inhaling alcohol until you're drunk- probably not a very pleasant way to go but how would I know? The bad news? They all died. Overnight.

    That's it... I'm going to fail, goodbye degree....

    -wake up-
    Last edited: Jan 28, 2016
    Kenico, Bootsies and Hooligan like this.
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