They say video killed the radio star, but radio killed my dog.

In intra-Math Team competition, the North Sider Riders proved brighter and righter than the capable Kiefer-Kozbur combination contraposed to them, outscoring them 66-64 after 20 grueling rounds of two-person practice.

Also, Scho-Bowl tournament #1 tomorrow. W00T~! I don't actually recall what tournament it is, but our reign of terror is about to begin.

Today I declare the awesomeness of Robert Burns, Scottish poet superstar. You don't figure on a lot of obscenity form 18th century poets, but DAMN. I was sold after reading "The Fornicator", and the when I got to "Coming Through the Rye" (version 2), I was purely stunned. He also wrote "Auld Lang Syne" so the next time you're singing something you can't understand on New Year's Eve, you know who to blame. Now, you can look up his obscene stuff on your own, people, because this blog has some self-respect, so I'll just give you this very cool love poem. Not that I have any reason to gravitate towards love poems; What on Earth could give you that idea (sidenote: the Girl is still beautiful). Mind you, it's written in Scottish, so it's spelled crazy-like.

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

-Robert Burns, 1794

Hmm. Odd coincidence that Siby and I should both put up poems the day he links to me. Siby's poem is also cool.

Don't-look-away-now-because-it's-about-to BLOG!

Dr. Thaddeus Horatio Casimir Funk,
Improperly using the word blog since 1883.