peyote peyote peyote i have a peyote jacket.
shit has been very weird lately. i got suspended today. i also said goodbye to miltz, seeing as tomorrow is his last day and i'm not going to be there. i'm surprised i didn't cry. he did. i have a prom date now. that was easy. i'm pretty content with myself that i was successful in asking my first choice. probably because i'm so great. i'm in a legitimate band now. it's legitimate because we have a synth now. yeah, i know, badass. now, legitimate, now, legitimate, now. no time like now. i got an e-mail from my agent-to-be today and apparently they absolutely need to see something very soon or they'll have to drop me from any contractual considerations. oh well. you know what i did after that? i took a drive. nothing beats driving around town in muh benz while sucking on a nice pall mall. nothing at all. except maybe sex. THE LAST FRONTIER. when i'm a famous reclusive author you can all visit me at my swank apartment in brooklyn. no, fuck brooklyn, i'm going to manhattan. man, hat, tan. i'm not going to open the door, but at least you'll get to pull in the glory of my mahogany front door with the gold leaf inlays. enjoy it fuckers. right now i consider myself a connoisseur of fine mercedes-benz motorcars, but in a few years i'm going to be a connoisseur of fine aston martin motorcars. i'm going to buy one with a union jack paint scheme. just so you'll know it's me driving by you in your toyota or your scion or your whatever the fuck your poor ass will treat yourself to. My dad's driven toyotas and scions. he's a poor ass. i'll give him one of my aston martins. Your, your, your. Say that one 'til it sounds ridiculous. C'mon, just do it. i love materialism. babbitt is the best book i've read in a very long time; you can borrow it sometime. my house is full of lead paint. what are you full of?