Weighted Averages

the Refugee does not realize when I am ridiculing him and his lifestyle because he actually has pride. Any rational personal with hope and emotion would be a vacant shell of inhumanity if they were in the Refugee's shoes. But, the Refugee is too calloused by stupidity, drugs and rejection to detect the judgment of the world around him. I suppose, in one way, it's good in that it keeps him from offing himself. But, in all other senses, it's terrible and pitiful. He really saw someone else in work clothes and thought it was funny, the same thing would happen if he woke up in the morning and saw people going to real jobs, but, he'd never get up in the morning, unless, of course, the crack kept him awake. Which leads me to the next observation in the pathetic and sad existence of the Refugee: a fucking nickel bag!?! What self-respecting grown adult buys a nickel bag? Nickel bags are for middle schoolers buying oregano off Rastas in Washington Square park. In fact, after smoking his bowl-worth of a nickel bag, the Refugee offered to perform oral sex on me if I blew my hit into his face. I did it, but refused the gratificaton, because I'm not gay, have several girlfriends and that would be cheating, and don't need whatever foul, festering diseases linger in his wordhole. I think he was disappointed. But, really, a nickel bag? I bet the clerk just laughed at anyone still having those, or didn't recognize it as weed because noone over the age of 16 carries a fucking nickel bag. But, proof again, of the Refugee's stunted development. Hey, the Refugee, go tell the next teenager you're hitting on that you know how to score nickel bags and wine coolers, she might be impressed and kiss you.
Don't get your braces stuck together.

Check out his pink extremities, too. What a scrawny mofo. For someone sentenced to a life of manual labor, you'd think he'd get some meat on his bones. Nonetheless, I applaud the banana foster ravioli and offer whatever helpful suggestions I can. the Refugee tried to fire me as sous-chef, but, I reapplied and was hired because I just interviewed for another position as a policy analyst, and, after I did well in the interview portion, they wanted to see how comfortable I am with quantitative analysis. Turns out, I'm not very comfortable. Who the fuck remembers how to do weighted averages? Fuck, not me.