[breaking its promise] i'm having trouble just finding some soul in this town
If you were accused of murder, who would you have testify for your character?
Funny, I was just contemplating this last year. Yet, I still don't have an exact answer which possibly means I should prepare myself for the electric chair. Buzz. Buzz.
It's the last name, isn't it? Never wins me any points.
One day a long long time ago, when people weren't openly aware of how truly psychotic my father was, the last name used to buy me credit with the underprivileged over-privileged crowd or the only people who meant anything. Pops did wonders for the family image, despite all his years of telling me what a failure I was.
Though, I think people should have reasonable doubt that I'm going to commit any acts of murder and wind up like the old man. You know, I hear sin begets sin and like father like son, but the only person I've ever thought of killing had his brains splattered against a television screen last year. Oops, too bad. Maybe I should feel sorrier for flesh and blood, but I'm not. There are people out there that deserve to die and he was one of them. I'm glad that he's gone.
He was all about hiding something that was there and making sure you smiled for the camera. The credit that I now get for having the last name is just CNN interviews about the man behind the mask.
No one would testify my character.
Not Veronica, who believes in the greater good inside of me; which truly shows. Not Duncan, who is too busy fathering his illegitimate love child off in fucking India or somewhere. Not Dick, who probably literally has other matters at hand to bother remembering a court date. Not any number of various women I've been with or friends I used to have. I've quickly come to the conclusion that anyone who would have anything that meant a damn to say is either dead or exceptionally mistrusting or missing in action.
For my death, I prefer lethal injection. You know, if we're taking requests.
Muse: Logan Echolls
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Words: 400
Funny, I was just contemplating this last year. Yet, I still don't have an exact answer which possibly means I should prepare myself for the electric chair. Buzz. Buzz.
It's the last name, isn't it? Never wins me any points.
One day a long long time ago, when people weren't openly aware of how truly psychotic my father was, the last name used to buy me credit with the underprivileged over-privileged crowd or the only people who meant anything. Pops did wonders for the family image, despite all his years of telling me what a failure I was.
Though, I think people should have reasonable doubt that I'm going to commit any acts of murder and wind up like the old man. You know, I hear sin begets sin and like father like son, but the only person I've ever thought of killing had his brains splattered against a television screen last year. Oops, too bad. Maybe I should feel sorrier for flesh and blood, but I'm not. There are people out there that deserve to die and he was one of them. I'm glad that he's gone.
He was all about hiding something that was there and making sure you smiled for the camera. The credit that I now get for having the last name is just CNN interviews about the man behind the mask.
No one would testify my character.
Not Veronica, who believes in the greater good inside of me; which truly shows. Not Duncan, who is too busy fathering his illegitimate love child off in fucking India or somewhere. Not Dick, who probably literally has other matters at hand to bother remembering a court date. Not any number of various women I've been with or friends I used to have. I've quickly come to the conclusion that anyone who would have anything that meant a damn to say is either dead or exceptionally mistrusting or missing in action.
For my death, I prefer lethal injection. You know, if we're taking requests.
Muse: Logan Echolls
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Words: 400