First, though, I have to say that writing a literary analysis paper is the reason I put off taking English 1B for so many years. I suck at literary analysis, because I can’t write an outline to save my sad little life.
On a brighter note, I was so happy to discover the Tamagotchi L.i.f.e. app in the Google Play Store the other day. It was a complete fluke that I discovered it, because I was just looking for free apps to entertain the kids I babysit when I need a mental break, and there it was. Free. But it’s a new app, and I stumbled on it just in time to have it before it gets cool. Finally, I’ll be one of the kids with a tamagotchi, while it’s still hot! I only had the knock-offs when I was young, and only once tamagotchi had started on it its way out (at my school, at least).
So, I finally hatched my first tamagotchi, on Wednesday of last week.
Here it is, sleeping. Which is kind of fitting, because it died today.
It was sickly, and needy, and poorly behaved. I let it eat too much candy, and I think that’s where I went wrong. It was only six years old, which is depressing. I hatched a new one, which I will not be feeding any snacks to. We’ll see how that goes.
My tamagotchi was so ugly, with its little stick legs and no arms, and its big old duck lips. It was always pelvic thrusting its way across the screen, smugly, waggling its butt at me as if to say, “Why, yes. I did poop an hour ago. Why, yes, I did just poop again. I’ll never stop pooping. Clean it up, so I can poop again.”
“LOOK AT MY POOP!”
Sometimes, it would call to me, just so it could refuse to eat its loaf of bread. Then I’d have to discipline it. It would harumph, and spew clouds of crankiness. Then it would behave for a little bit, but before too long it would be screaming out for me again, just so I could watch it thrust its way across the screen. Here’s a picture of how it looked when it got pissed off. I thought it was hilarious, and if I knew how to make a .gif of it, I would.
That is the best I can do for you.
It got sick every day. I had to give it two or three shots before it would get better, and it would get all happy, and I’d think, “Finally, I can have some peace.” But no. Before long it would be calling out to me once more, for no reason other than sheer selfishness. But now its dead, so… I kind of miss it.
Man, talking about 90’s toys is a nice break from having to write a literary analysis. I think I’m burnt out on that for tonight, and I’m going to rush to finish it tomorrow evening after work. Procrastinators always win, right?