Out Of Context College Quotes

Here are ten things my professors have said during lecture which, well, make going to class all the worthwhile.
No particular order.

1) “As your friend, I’m entitled to ask you to bury the body.”

2) “There’s nothing THAT noble about having an orgasm.”

3) “Deprivation is kind of a neat thing.”

4)”I favor woman bits to factories.”

5) “No, dude, you can’t sell the chimpanzee.”

6) “There are occasions when its totally OK to kill a human being.”

7) “Not everything needs a big screen, you know?”

8) “You’re going to get high, no matter what you say.”

9) “It’s really up to you to be happy.”

10) “About 1/2 of those who can vote, will;

       and that’s in the sexiest election.”

1 note

HULK SMASHCheck it out: http://www.tencentticker.com/projectrooftop/

HULK SMASH
Check it out:
http://www.tencentticker.com/projectrooftop/

I enjoy drawing in pen. Not that its a big challenge or anything, and its not because I enjoy having to restart a drawing fifty times. I just do.  Birds fly, computers crash, and Daniel Rios draws in pen.Here’s an example. It’s me, more or less.

I enjoy drawing in pen. Not that its a big challenge or anything, and its not because I enjoy having to restart a drawing fifty times. I just do. 
Birds fly, computers crash, and Daniel Rios draws in pen.
Here’s an example. It’s me, more or less.

As a double major in Psychology and Theatre Design, people often times ask, “What were you thinking?”Because, apparently, trying to find a job in what you enjoy is grounds for an insanity plea in a court of my peers.So here’s, I think, an adequate response.

As a double major in Psychology and Theatre Design, people often times ask, “What were you thinking?”
Because, apparently, trying to find a job in what you enjoy is grounds for an insanity plea in a court of my peers.
So here’s, I think, an adequate response.

So. Pigs Flying. Go do the impossible!

So. Pigs Flying. Go do the impossible!

About The Purple Heart Highway So.   There’s this little, out-of-the-way town in west Texas, where the biggest things are the mountains and the sunset. It’s the biggest small town, and there’s nothing to do, anywhere, at any time.   But there’s this stretch of road, leading away from the mountain, that hardly gets traveled by. It’s called the Purple Heart Highway, and it goes straight into the most deserted outskirts of this little, out-of-the-way, west Texas town. Surrounded by brush and flatland, the mountains shrinking behind you in the distance, the car you’re driving seems to disappear, along with your frustrations and discomforts.   And you don’t even feel your foot on the gas pedal.   You just.   Go. And, I mean, how typical right? Driving in the dead of night, at 2:58 a.m., down a stretch of road that magically ends at some take-home-to-your-parents, all-purpose quote to overcome inconvenient circumstances. But it doesn’t. Not really.   You’re driving down this stretch of road, going 60, 70, 80, 90, 92 miles per hour, and its 2:59 a.m., watching the lights and reflections of highlighter colored signs zoom past you, realizing there isn’t an answer at the end of the road. To be perfectly frank, this trip is entirely useless and you’ve no justification for burning through a half tank of gas, but you’re going to take it anyways, aren’t you? Of course you would.  And it isn’t until you pull over on the right shoulder and get out of your car that you smell the scent of burnt rubber, and you immediately recognize it’s probably the serpentine belt, which is probably a really bad thing. But. I mean. Whatever.   Miles Davis is serenading the stars from your stereo, and it all seems a little sad and lonely, straight from the most cliche and overused scene from a movie. The moon looks down on you, her bright smile illuminating the entire desert landscape. Away from the city, from the people you know, from the most familiar things, you’ve never felt so connected before.   You almost want to think something overly Romantic, like. “She’s looking at the same sky, right now.” And she probably isn’t, but it’s 4:12 a.m. and good grief, it’s cold.   You get back in your little 1992 Toyota Celica, and you zoom back on the road, feeling not a bit different than when you started. But down the road, heading back to the main street, you come to the best realization all of your nineteen years have given you.   Life sucks, and then you die. But all’s not lost!   See, life is made up of the little things. It’s where happiness comes from. So even if you’re from a dead beat family with nothing to your name, or the offspring of the most influential lawyer in the entire county, the smell of old books still makes you chuckle to yourself. The smell of gasoline, though not entirely safe, is a small treat every time you pump oil into your piece of junk of a car. The first snowfall of winter, the last day of classes, we all enjoy the same things. So. You drive down the Purple Heart Highway, not even thinking of anything. It’s all good. No, really. It’s good. So relax, kid, and enjoy. This picture is one of those things for me.  

About The Purple Heart Highway

So.
  There’s this little, out-of-the-way town in west Texas, where the biggest things are the mountains and the sunset. It’s the biggest small town, and there’s nothing to do, anywhere, at any time.
  But there’s this stretch of road, leading away from the mountain, that hardly gets traveled by. It’s called the Purple Heart Highway, and it goes straight into the most deserted outskirts of this little, out-of-the-way, west Texas town. Surrounded by brush and flatland, the mountains shrinking behind you in the distance, the car you’re driving seems to disappear, along with your frustrations and discomforts.
  And you don’t even feel your foot on the gas pedal.
  You just.
  Go.
And, I mean, how typical right? Driving in the dead of night, at 2:58 a.m., down a stretch of road that magically ends at some take-home-to-your-parents, all-purpose quote to overcome inconvenient circumstances. But it doesn’t. Not really.
  You’re driving down this stretch of road, going 60, 70, 80, 90, 92 miles per hour, and its 2:59 a.m., watching the lights and reflections of highlighter colored signs zoom past you, realizing there isn’t an answer at the end of the road. To be perfectly frank, this trip is entirely useless and you’ve no justification for burning through a half tank of gas, but you’re going to take it anyways, aren’t you?
Of course you would.
 And it isn’t until you pull over on the right shoulder and get out of your car that you smell the scent of burnt rubber, and you immediately recognize it’s probably the serpentine belt, which is probably a really bad thing. But. I mean. Whatever.
  Miles Davis is serenading the stars from your stereo, and it all seems a little sad and lonely, straight from the most cliche and overused scene from a movie. The moon looks down on you, her bright smile illuminating the entire desert landscape. Away from the city, from the people you know, from the most familiar things, you’ve never felt so connected before.
  You almost want to think something overly Romantic, like. “She’s looking at the same sky, right now.”
And she probably isn’t, but it’s 4:12 a.m. and good grief, it’s cold.

  You get back in your little 1992 Toyota Celica, and you zoom back on the road, feeling not a bit different than when you started. But down the road, heading back to the main street, you come to the best realization all of your nineteen years have given you.
  Life sucks, and then you die. But all’s not lost!
  See, life is made up of the little things. It’s where happiness comes from. So even if you’re from a dead beat family with nothing to your name, or the offspring of the most influential lawyer in the entire county, the smell of old books still makes you chuckle to yourself. The smell of gasoline, though not entirely safe, is a small treat every time you pump oil into your piece of junk of a car. The first snowfall of winter, the last day of classes, we all enjoy the same things.
So. You drive down the Purple Heart Highway, not even thinking of anything.
It’s all good.
No, really. It’s good. So relax, kid, and enjoy.

This picture is one of those things for me.


 

“The eyes SHOUT what the lips FEAR to say.” -Henry Wilson Allen -1912 to 1991

Drawn Winter of 2009.
“The Dying Romantic”