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Things happen that, inevitably, are unplanned for and unwanted.  It is these kinds of things that always jump out and bite you on the ass at the least opportune moment.  The kind of things that before you do it, you know something could go wrong, but what are the odds? 


Well, Murphy’s Law my friend.  It's back and hates you and your mother.  Let’s say hypothetically you, or someone you know, is out at a party.  It’s a nice Friday evening; no different from any other Friday.  You, or this supposed person that you supposedly know—or so he says—is having a few drinks ‘cause it’s a Friday night and what do people do on Friday nights? That’s right; they get sloppy drunk; Sloppy, stumbly, pukey, falling asleep in the kitchen sink drunk, doing half of an Olympic dive off your professor’s front porch drunk. 


So as you stumble your Jack Daniel's smellin’ ass outside to either smoke or puke, which ever is more convenient, you run into a heavy set man dancing around a burning dumpster singing in what you think just might be some bastard form of Polynesian.  “Fire” you, or that other person—I’m not saying which one—think to themselves, “Hmm, I like fire.  I also enjoy the creation of fire, perhaps I should join in.”  Obviously, this is a situation where you’d act exactly the same if you were sober so hey, you better just go with your instincts.  As you begin ripping a fence slat down you think to yourself, “Wait, why the hell are they destroying private property?”  So you—or this person you just might know—turns around and gazes about.  Not too quickly though; you’re drunk, remember?  Of course you don’t. 

Anyhow, as you gaze about, or glaze as the case may be, you hear something about a victory in the recent athletic competition.  You also hear that the contenders where that college from across the country that you, and everyone like you, has hated with every fiber of your being since birth, nah, since conception.  So, that was the reason you had now finished throwing your third fence slat into the already raging fire.  Interesting, and a good thing to know should anything foul come of the events that take place this eve.  But that couldn’t happen; you’re too drunk to do anything stupid. 


So as you get drunker and drunker, and things get hazier and hazier, and you burn more and more things, that present more and more danger for yourself and those around you, the party is broken up.  Unfortunately, when I say broken up what I mean is the cops showed up, and they brought dogs.  Now, you’re not dumb; you ran.  Right into a fire. 


So as you awaken to the sheer agony of second and third degree burns trying like hell to regenerate themselves you think to yourself, “Could be worse, at least I lived.”  No really permanent damage other than the scars from the skin grafts you had to receive, and the hundreds of thousands your medical bills cost, oh and the amount of college you missed as a result.  Well, and that Gross Misdemeanor for destruction of property.  But you’re alive, and you have your health, that’s all that matters.  Well, that and you graduated—from community college—but you graduated and that’s all that matters. 


Of course you need to do some student teaching before you can actually get your license though.  So, I guess the point is, Sir, that things happen and I’ve grown and learned from them.  I know it would be a bit abnormal for you to let me student teach here anyway, but please, Sir, I really have learned from my mistakes, and I really, really need this.

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