Conscience says:
Surreee, pick 3 days before the math paper to realise you suck at maths, huh? I knew the B for
maths was a fluke but did you listen? Noooo, instead you decided it would better a better idea to make like a polar bear and hibernate half the time, huh? And spend the other half puffing your head up and boosting your ego? Don't blame it on me if you have to turn sideways to enter the exam hall. So you can prove yourself wrong and promptly hand up such a stinker no amount of freshener is going to do anything about it.
Heart says:
Don't listen to him, all he does is sit around all day and discourage people. You know you can do it, you've got the fire in the belly, so just go out there ace those papers!
Belly says:
On the contrary, my blood pumping friend. He's drunk so much cold water lately that the fire's been put out. Well, that's what I would say if there was any fire in the first place. All the fire's in the disco, baby!
Brain says:
Stuff it, all of you. Wilfred is going to ace this paper, and none of you are going to do anything to stop this. Not Heart, not belly, not big toe, not any random jackass he might know, NO ONE. Do we understand?
Left Hand says:
No, you stuff it. If you ask me to write another 9 pages in 90 minutes at 9 degrees celsius I'm going to follow the example of the Addams family hand and plop off on my own, and your going to have to teach my retarded twin how to write.
Brain says:
Point taken. No more redundant writing. I'll implement quality control as soon as all 3 brain cells assemble for the annual meeting.
Conscience says:
Are you kidding?! This is the time where we'll have to work overtime. If he ends up tossing chicken into boiling oil for a living it's gonna be on you both, lefty and pinky.
Brain says:
I'm grey, you fool. Besides-
Right Hand says:
Duh... Hey! Somebody just insulted me!
Jaw says:
Hey, stop it, mofo! It was lefty! Just let me go back into slack mode, will ya?
Fashion sense says:
Sure, if you wanna look like a bumbling idiot, go ahead. Not like his fashion sense isn't already the greatest travesty of the world. If you're going to make him fail guys, please at least make him look good doing it.
Heart says:
Shut up! Nobody is going to make Wilfred fail! HOW COULD YOU EVEN HAVE SUCH THOUGHTS? IF I WERE BRAIN I'D COME UP WITH A MILLION DIFFERENT WORDS TO DESCRIBE HOW...APPALLED...I...AM...
Kidneys say:
I've just about taken enough shit, let's get him!
Eyes say:
You know what? Let's just end this right now. I'm closing for the day!
All:
Noooo.....must....redeem....self..and....do....math....*slump*
Such is the internal conflict I have when I attempt to do work. Which would kind of explain what the hell I'm doing online now when I've just realised how bad my pure maths is.
Surreee, pick 3 days before the math paper to realise you suck at maths, huh? I knew the B for
maths was a fluke but did you listen? Noooo, instead you decided it would better a better idea to make like a polar bear and hibernate half the time, huh? And spend the other half puffing your head up and boosting your ego? Don't blame it on me if you have to turn sideways to enter the exam hall. So you can prove yourself wrong and promptly hand up such a stinker no amount of freshener is going to do anything about it.
Heart says:
Don't listen to him, all he does is sit around all day and discourage people. You know you can do it, you've got the fire in the belly, so just go out there ace those papers!
Belly says:
On the contrary, my blood pumping friend. He's drunk so much cold water lately that the fire's been put out. Well, that's what I would say if there was any fire in the first place. All the fire's in the disco, baby!
Brain says:
Stuff it, all of you. Wilfred is going to ace this paper, and none of you are going to do anything to stop this. Not Heart, not belly, not big toe, not any random jackass he might know, NO ONE. Do we understand?
Left Hand says:
No, you stuff it. If you ask me to write another 9 pages in 90 minutes at 9 degrees celsius I'm going to follow the example of the Addams family hand and plop off on my own, and your going to have to teach my retarded twin how to write.
Brain says:
Point taken. No more redundant writing. I'll implement quality control as soon as all 3 brain cells assemble for the annual meeting.
Conscience says:
Are you kidding?! This is the time where we'll have to work overtime. If he ends up tossing chicken into boiling oil for a living it's gonna be on you both, lefty and pinky.
Brain says:
I'm grey, you fool. Besides-
Right Hand says:
Duh... Hey! Somebody just insulted me!
Jaw says:
Hey, stop it, mofo! It was lefty! Just let me go back into slack mode, will ya?
Fashion sense says:
Sure, if you wanna look like a bumbling idiot, go ahead. Not like his fashion sense isn't already the greatest travesty of the world. If you're going to make him fail guys, please at least make him look good doing it.
Heart says:
Shut up! Nobody is going to make Wilfred fail! HOW COULD YOU EVEN HAVE SUCH THOUGHTS? IF I WERE BRAIN I'D COME UP WITH A MILLION DIFFERENT WORDS TO DESCRIBE HOW...APPALLED...I...AM...
Kidneys say:
I've just about taken enough shit, let's get him!
Eyes say:
You know what? Let's just end this right now. I'm closing for the day!
All:
Noooo.....must....redeem....self..and....do....math....*slump*
Such is the internal conflict I have when I attempt to do work. Which would kind of explain what the hell I'm doing online now when I've just realised how bad my pure maths is.
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