Well, shit like this, for starters. Come on, B, where did you stash the big fucking book of statistics ( Read more... )

B covered it. Like I'm not just the least bit curious about how this entire clusterfuck got off the ground ( Read more... )

You've got to be dicking me around with this. I've been getting my kicks ripping up neighborhood pets on the weekends. And just to be clear, I'm not a bed-wetting junior serial killer -- this is not normal. But I think it's safe to say I am past the guilt stage. So way, long past. The guilt stage has left the fucking rear view ( Read more... )

Eight days ago I screwed Jason McCardy in the backseat of his mom's Volvo. I didn't lose a fucking thing. Neither did Jason, unless you count some blood and his, like, delusions of dignity ( Read more... )

Any normal other time, I wouldn't have had to waste my breath on more than one syllable, two letters, on the subject of "love at first sight". Pretty fucking incredible how different some things start to look through yellow goddamn eyes, huh ( Read more... )

My hair is naturally red and my mother named me Ginger.

Life in Bailey Downs has continued pretty much down-fucking-hill since then.

Over the summer, I was impaled, run over, drowned, crushed, gutted by a lawnmower, electrocuted, and slashed my own throat, but nothing really stuck until a couple of weeks ago, when I got clawed up to shit in the ( Read more... )