(no subject)
i want to go home.
skunk came over today. we watched almost famous. talked about her and her exs and one-night-stands.
i hate chad.
i want to. i need to be. under your skin.
i miss ryans shows. apparently they have been forever canceled. why? i dont know. some of my favourite times were there. and no, they were not spent sucking face. ever. i want those eight chocolate tootsie pops back. i didnt even get one. chase me. drive me home. 'im sorry's.
try to hold on. this time. a little bit longer. just dont let go.
i strongly dislike mexican people that walk a step behind you with their pals and talk shit about you in spanish because they know you cant understand them anyway. the only way to battle it is to test them and start shit talking their shit talking and seeing if they understand your english. oh, bitch.
i cant be near you the light just radiates.
professional mooching for life. i rarely have money. and when i do i spend it on xcore drugs. but anyway, what do i do when i get an extremely heinous craving for salad or cookies? mozzerella sticks and curly fries? badly cooked, low quality, greasy hamburgers and a GINORMOUS fifty-nine cent drink? well this is where i put on my little 'givememoneyorilleatyouruglynose' face and scare people into forking over every last penny from their miserably void wallets and billfolds. it works everytime. except... bobby fisher. the one person who dares to stand up to me and my cruel, villianous, totalitarian ways. he cleverly avoids my cunning attempts to swipe his tens and fivers. damn you, robert+!+
give me something to do to kill some time. take away the strains of being lonely. take me to that place that i call home. take me to the tracks at christy road.
i dont want to cause no harm. but sometimes my actions hurt. watch my friends begin to reach a short countdown to their ends. call me irresponsible. call me habitual. but when you think of me. do you fill you head with screams? better think again cus no one knows.
hello kara.
skunk came over today. we watched almost famous. talked about her and her exs and one-night-stands.
i hate chad.
i want to. i need to be. under your skin.
i miss ryans shows. apparently they have been forever canceled. why? i dont know. some of my favourite times were there. and no, they were not spent sucking face. ever. i want those eight chocolate tootsie pops back. i didnt even get one. chase me. drive me home. 'im sorry's.
try to hold on. this time. a little bit longer. just dont let go.
i strongly dislike mexican people that walk a step behind you with their pals and talk shit about you in spanish because they know you cant understand them anyway. the only way to battle it is to test them and start shit talking their shit talking and seeing if they understand your english. oh, bitch.
i cant be near you the light just radiates.
professional mooching for life. i rarely have money. and when i do i spend it on xcore drugs. but anyway, what do i do when i get an extremely heinous craving for salad or cookies? mozzerella sticks and curly fries? badly cooked, low quality, greasy hamburgers and a GINORMOUS fifty-nine cent drink? well this is where i put on my little 'givememoneyorilleatyouruglynose' face and scare people into forking over every last penny from their miserably void wallets and billfolds. it works everytime. except... bobby fisher. the one person who dares to stand up to me and my cruel, villianous, totalitarian ways. he cleverly avoids my cunning attempts to swipe his tens and fivers. damn you, robert+!+
give me something to do to kill some time. take away the strains of being lonely. take me to that place that i call home. take me to the tracks at christy road.
i dont want to cause no harm. but sometimes my actions hurt. watch my friends begin to reach a short countdown to their ends. call me irresponsible. call me habitual. but when you think of me. do you fill you head with screams? better think again cus no one knows.
hello kara.