y name is PD. That's not really my name, but that's what people call me. I don't know why. I'm a fourth year student at Cal. That's the University of California, Berkeley for the unenlightened. This is one of the best degree-granting institutions of higher education in California. It follows then, that as I go here, I must be quite smart, and I am. In fact, I have not one (1), but two (2) majors: Psychology and Economics. My two best qualities are: I don't think before I speak, and I care little for others. Here is a picture of me before I got contacts.
As I am nearing graduation, I feel this may be a good time to start thinking about what I want to do with myself. There are only three avenues of employement that are respectable for a man to enter into: ninja, pirate and lumberjack. I hate trees. This fact limits my career opportunities significantly as lumberjacks must love trees with all of their grizzled hearts. Thus, when I grow up all the way, I would like to be both a ninja and a pirate. However, as we all know, ninjas and pirates are mortal enemies, so I must pick one. I've been thinking on it, generally during my toilet time, and I have decided that I may be better qualified to be a pirate. I figure that my majors will be very useful in this profession. With my vast knowledge of economics I will know all about the supply and demand of stolen cargos and booty. And with my psychology major I will know well how to strike fear into the hearts of maritime travellers the world over. Though being a pirate isn't as prestigious as being a ninja, it pays better, and there is more pillaging involved.
Ninjas don't really need things like psychology and economics. They need skills like stealth and killing people from afar with a wayward glance. I would be the dread pirate PD. Men would cry and cower in fear at the mention of my name. Some would even wet themselves. And women would gasp with intense desire.
Here is a picture of me and two of my biggest fans. There's that no-talent pirate-smoker, David Hasselhoff and that guy from Diff'rent Storks or something. It's on animal planet I think. The least imposing security guard ever. What's his name? Anyhow, the two of them begged for a chance at this picture with me. Yes, that makes me the car. As you can see, I'm a little hung over. Talking Supercar is one of the many forms I am known to take. I would teach you how to do this, but I don't think you can handle the immense responsibility of being a talking car with all-leather interior and optional cupholder. Gary Coleman. That's his name. I just remembered. That guy is short. Sounds like someone stepped on his throat or something.
I started this page on a whim; it's mainly a crass and irreverant homage to my own sense of self importance. Every once in a while, I like to write about things. Those things are all here. I make no promises about quality. Just read through what you want to and let me know what you think.
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