open your eyes and let your sin go out of your brain and through your skull's window
Trees cut me all up.
Stupid walk-behind drags me through them.
Four more days.
Also, for some reason, my right shoulder has broken out with acne. Just the top of my right shoulder. Why? I have no idea. I haven't had pimples in a couple years. What the crap?
Last night I dreamt that I was being broken up with over and over again. It sucked. I don't even really know who was breaking up with me. It's not like anyone can. It was depressing, though.
I have a lot of things in my head to write.
I bought a broken motorcycle today.
I don't usually have gum around, but when I do it's about a seven minute journey from opening the pack to finishing it.
Did I mention that I finally know my blood type (and that they finally sent me my donor card, which, being a New york donor card, is super-badass)? You know what kind of blood I have? Frigging A+. That's right. A+. It's in my blood. I am perfect.
I was just thinking of all the fun jokes I could have made if I had known that during highschool, and then I remembered that I wouldn't have really had an opportunity, because I don't think I've actually gotten an A+ since like fifth grade. After that they were all, "If you don't do at least some of the work we can only give you a B." Screw that crap. Grades are for losers. Except A+'s; they're for me (in my BLOOD).
In my graduation photo my face is maybe four millimeters high (screw you guys, I'm a scientist), and yet I can still tell that I'm totally disgusted. I'm not sure why. But you can see it in my tiny facial expression.
So, the final round of voting for the "Most Frightning Song Ever Written" has closed and the votes have been tallied. The winner is "Run For Your Life" by the Beatles.
Psychos.
If I wrote and illustrated a childrens' book, would you read it to your children?
Because I'm going to, and I want you to.
Oh, you're being clever, are you?
No.
You think you're being funny?
No.
Making fun of my life?
Yes.
Stupid walk-behind drags me through them.
Four more days.
Also, for some reason, my right shoulder has broken out with acne. Just the top of my right shoulder. Why? I have no idea. I haven't had pimples in a couple years. What the crap?
Last night I dreamt that I was being broken up with over and over again. It sucked. I don't even really know who was breaking up with me. It's not like anyone can. It was depressing, though.
I have a lot of things in my head to write.
I bought a broken motorcycle today.
I don't usually have gum around, but when I do it's about a seven minute journey from opening the pack to finishing it.
Did I mention that I finally know my blood type (and that they finally sent me my donor card, which, being a New york donor card, is super-badass)? You know what kind of blood I have? Frigging A+. That's right. A+. It's in my blood. I am perfect.
I was just thinking of all the fun jokes I could have made if I had known that during highschool, and then I remembered that I wouldn't have really had an opportunity, because I don't think I've actually gotten an A+ since like fifth grade. After that they were all, "If you don't do at least some of the work we can only give you a B." Screw that crap. Grades are for losers. Except A+'s; they're for me (in my BLOOD).
In my graduation photo my face is maybe four millimeters high (screw you guys, I'm a scientist), and yet I can still tell that I'm totally disgusted. I'm not sure why. But you can see it in my tiny facial expression.
So, the final round of voting for the "Most Frightning Song Ever Written" has closed and the votes have been tallied. The winner is "Run For Your Life" by the Beatles.
Psychos.
If I wrote and illustrated a childrens' book, would you read it to your children?
Because I'm going to, and I want you to.
Oh, you're being clever, are you?
No.
You think you're being funny?
No.
Making fun of my life?
Yes.