That's right ... another one.

I want to be yet-another-white-rapper. I don't want fame, I don't want fortune, and I really don't care much about hip hop. I just want to stand on a stage, say "holla back playa," and have several hundred people yell "BACK PLAYA."

Happy new hangover.

Also, 데너스를 메게은 사랑해.

Ain't like it will be doing me much good. In the last three hours, I've taken in about three pints of Jager, two pints of Goldschlager, six grams of acetomenophine (six-thousand milligrams for those not playing the metric system home game), and a whole metrick fuckton of spite ( Read more... )

... sitting here ready to slit my throat.

My roommate has about half of her stuff moved out.

The other half should be gone tomorrow.

That includes the cat, and I cannot even express how sad I am that he is leaving. He's been about the only being that I could really count on for support over the course of the last two years.

No, life is apparently not required to throw me a bone.

If life is going to treat me like a beaten, battered dog, wouldn't it be rational to assume that it would be obligated to throw me a fucking bone on occasion?

So, I couldn't take another weekend in the middle of nowhere. Rather than that noise, I rented a car, proceeded to drive the absolute hell out of it, and ended up fifteen hours away in Houston, TX ( Read more... )

01:03 Well, I coudln't find any better socks... So I went with my damn little ankle socks... And the back of my shoe rubbed me raw, so I think my shoe tried to make me commit suicide...

01:03 were they air kevorkians?

First rule of Pilsbury Fight Club: No biscuits.

Second rule of Pilsbury Fight Club: NOOOOOOOOO BISCUITS TEE HEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

So, I did have a great, nay, INGENIOUS idea the other day. I need to get together a handful of these "emo" kids, dress them up like true thugs, and teach them to spit rhyme ( Read more... )