At USF St. Petersburg, a little bit of wordplay goes a long way. Eventually, it just winds up looking like so much bull.
A Parody and Para-bull
You wake up late and irrata-bull and quickly wolf down a bowl of cereal.
Complaining that the day will be terri-bull you jump into your convert-a-bull. Your driving is so irresponsi-bull that you’re pulled over by the consta-bull. He says speeding is unseason-a-bull and gives a ticket that’s unreason-a-bull. Finding parking at school is insuffer-a-bull but you see a spot that’s just squeeze-a-bull.
At long last, you’ve made it to class, but the professor says tardies are unexcuse-a-bull.
“That’s bull!” you exclaim. “You’re just horri-bull,” and you challenge him to a center-court duel.
“Basketball’s no way to solve a qui-bull,” he says, but you know the truth, he just can’t dri-bull.
Downhearted and suscepti-bull, you decide that the day’s not redeem-a-bull. Your sorrows aren’t quite drown-a-bull, but you find that the fountain is swim-a-bull. As you splash around, you’re a-bull to think — maybe you just need a drink.
The Tavern looked so reach-a-bull, but then, the inconceive-a-bull — a flying craft bound for Albert Whitted spins out of control and descends swiftly. With a crash that’s unbelieve-a-bull, the poorly built dirigi-bull makes contact with concrete and crum-bulls. The flames are so high that you can’t get by; this day is just despic-a-bull.
You know that your credits aren’t transfer-a-bull; this place truly isn’t escape-a-bull. Just when hope doesn’t seem palp-a-bull, and the meaning of life unexplain-a-bull, your eyes fall upon something so no-bull that everything decidedly changes.
It’s the grand, the glorious, the bronze-cast bull whose gender is so undeny-a-bull. Your eyes fill with bub-bulls of green and of gold, and amidst all the rub-bull you pass out cold.
School spirit is nice, but a little advice— too much can make you gull-a-bull.
