Oh! Splenda!

I had to go to an educational conference today.  The following is a list of excerpts I jotted down in my notebook to keep myself from going insane.  Anyone who has ever been to a conference that is mind numbingly boring ought to be able to identify with a few of the disjointed thoughts that popped into my disjointed head during the proceedings.

The following was penned after I heard a fellow teacher comment when she saw the diet coke cans supplied at the conference had the logo for the artificial sweetener, Splenda, splashed all over the side of the can.   A five minute conversation on how surprising that was to all the fat out of shape old teachers ensued that was so achingly moronic that....well just read my notes:

Begin disjointed thoughts list:

I need to stab this pen into my temple.  Oh!  Splenda!  Holy-o-fuck.  How long has this shit been available?  Since 2005?  You don't grocerey shop?  Go to convenience stores?  You've never seen this shit?  How can you not notice a new addition to a product line as ubiquitous as Coke?  Oohs and aaahs abounded throughout the whole conversation debating whether they would ever be able to make the switch to the new version of diet coke.  When I thought I was done listening to it...it moved into another lengthy conversation on the variety of bagels that exist.
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I'm about to suffer death by inane insubstanial conversation.
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Great.  Now we are looking at pictures of relatives.  So we get to see pictures of people we don't give a shit about being presented by people we don't give a shit about.  That makes it "don't give a shit about" squared I believe.
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There's got to be a cliff in here.  Please let there be a cliff in this room I can hurl myself from.
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That overhead computer projector has been on all day long.  Nothing has been shown on it.  Do they know the bulbs cost $300-500 each?
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I no longer want to stab myself in the temple.  Instead I want to get shanked in the abdomen and slowly bleed out as my bowels empty into my pants just so my last moments are more pleasurable than listening to these ladies.
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If I had lived my entire life as a shut-in and been home schooled by a retarded parrot, I still wouldn't find anything these people are discussing remotely interesting.
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Can you feel an aneurysm coming on?
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I wonder if I started jerking off if anyone would notice.
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Right now I would rather have a yeti give me a prostate exam with his foot while using beach sand for lube than sit here any longer.
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This drop ceiling gives me nothing to throw a noose around.
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WWCED?
What would Clint Eastwood Do?
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Why is she talking to me?  I'm going to have to work on my look of utter disdain.
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I'm waiting for someone to tell me to stop spitting n my cup.  I have a chew in.
"Would you please stop doing that!  It's disgusting!"

"I will stop chewing if you work on being a little less fat and disgusting.  It's really bothering me.  While you're at it, try to work on being less tedious, too.  I think that will work for you in the long run."
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I'd rather have Dr. Mengele pull my ball hairs out one at a time with fishing pliers than be here.  I'll even throw in all the follicles on my taint, just get me out.
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I'm going to fake a seizure.  No, they'll call an ambulance.  Shit.  What is plan B?
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These new state requirements are as ridiculous as a monkey fucking a jug.
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I would rather eat bleu cheese out of Rosie O'Donnell's ass than be here.  No, I wouldn't.
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If you beat my cerebral cortex with a stocking full of jacks, I couldn't be in more mental distress than I am right now.
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I've never wanted to swap places with Steve Irwin until this moment.
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If I killed the guy who hosts "Dirty Jobs" what are the odds I'd be hired to replace him?
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I would rather have worm infested gorillas pelting me with their feces while I was tied naked to a stake than be here.
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I'm walking up the down escalator
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I think I just got stupider overhearing that conversation.
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This is like trying to fuck with a JATO strapped to your back.
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