Ups and Downs of Majoring in Engineering

In most respects, it's great. Problem sets rather than papers, final exams instead of... bigger papers. Few classes on Fridays. No language requirement -- in fact, most of my classes I'm genuinely happy about taking. Ready access to expensive, industrial-grade software and cheap, industrial-grade explosive materials. More girls than I know what to do with. Knowledge that after graduation, I'll practically have a job waiting for me, until some damn foreigner sneaks up and runs off with it, like a velociraptor with a juicy, delicious puppy.

But there is a price to pay for this "laid-back" lifestyle. Writing is a useful skill. And while it is not a skill which I ever really mastered in the first place, it's one which I feel I'm beginning to lose out of neglect and, I'm ashamed to say, some pretty blatant misuse. You can only end a sentence with a preposition so many times before none of the guys think it's funny anymore and you're stuck with a nasty little habit. And drunken conversations concerning the nature of bad puns don't technically count as "practice".

With that said, I would like to take this moment to officially offer my public apology to The English Language:
I'm sorry, The English Language. I didn't mean those things I said. I was angry and drunk. I've done a lot of terrible things, and I regret almost all of them. You deserve better. I should never have slept with your roomate out of revenge. That was a terrible idea, The English Language. Terrible. I'm a changed man. I want you -- I need you back. I'm willing to do anything it takes. Within reason. Please, The English Language, let me know your decision at your earliest conveniance. Hugs and Kisses.