So I drove my busted car out to Barnes & Noble, by all accounts deliberately breaking the law and completely flying in the face of reason. I laugh in the general direction of maturity and common sense.
It's an all-Green Day collector's edition of a British magazine called Metal Hammer. I have no idea where to find it other than a Barnes & Noble, where in my case it was sitting conveniently beside the Rolling Stone. But it's lovely indeed. Lots of articles, lots of pictures. Cost me, what twelve bucks? Jeez. Who else would I ever spend twelve dollars for a magazine on? What a geek.
D'awwww. I need to make more Green *space* Day icons. (Notice TEH SPACE? I didn't make it one word this time. Be proud, you GD Asshole.)
Billie. You so pretty. With your war makeup on. (That's what I call eyeliner, cause dude... it's a pain in the ass to put on, so... uh... actually I don't know why I call it war makeup, but whatever.
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Billie. You so pretty. With your war makeup on. (That's what I call eyeliner, cause dude... it's a pain in the ass to put on, so... uh... actually I don't know why I call it war makeup, but whatever.
BOOBAM! (Hee. Another Jim Carrey-ism.)
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...Wow. I am a GD Asshole. *snerk*
Eyeliner, no eyeliner, black hair, blue hair, tie, no tie, it doesn't matter. He's Billie.
And what'd I tell ya? All he has to do is stand there. Mm. Goddamn.
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