* * * Hanging Out With a Bunch of Grad Students * * * Of course, the first thing we'd do is go to the bar The mixologist nods hello and asks, "the usual?" and then mixes you your 6 parts Head-Poured Crystal Methedrine, 2 parts Bottom-Barrel Honey-Roasted Peanut Schnapps Then we'd start talking about what we were doing. They would say things like: My current project: Recording of Internal Confusing Genetic Vectors of a Boern-Sound-Contiuum Space Station Mir Chess-playing Confusing Limiting Factors at least until old Forges-Meaningful-Relationships-with-Sixty-Seven-year-old-Women-then-Does-Not-Get-Disease would walk in. And then we would all say Thou ruttish motley-minded bum-bailey and by that time, either one of us would pass out shortly after mumbling I CAN'T FUCKING REMEMBER WHY I AM HERE or we'd end up telling bad jokes like: A capacitor dies and goes to heaven. When it meets St. Peter at the big gates...