Europe Lay Sore Mine

Nov 28, 2005 09:17

Alright so Westenfelds' has a computer... that I get to play with work on from five AM to eleven AM, half the time I don't have anything to fart around with. (Gah! Can't believe I said 'fart around' what the hell is wrong with me) I mean, people come in, ask for the shit they ordered or me to look up something they can get which happens to be like, trombones and shit... and then I got nothing. I'm out. But to you PEOPLE who let me stay UP last night I want to THANK YOU because I'm going to be farking comaing tonight. YEAH. COMAING. I AM DEAD TIRED. STFU.

I'm just pissed this computer doesn't have AIM. Wait, BZUH?!? No. Cause if that happened I would never even do the little shit I need to. Ridiculous. And it's cold here. It's like... fifty degrees. My nose is cold. My finger tips are cold. My toes are cold. The sides of my legs are cold. zomg afk person

...back HAHA - that guy could have been Jim Carrey's twin, but whatever. Anyway, good times. Yeah, I just got a few things to say to you people. Prison Break is on at 7 PM CENTRAL tonight on FOX for TWO HOURS. Prison Break. Michael Scofield. Wentworth Miller. Happiness in and around the crotch of my pants area.

Also, J.J. Abrams, I'm going to shank your bitch ass if you kill my Sawyer. Yes, bitches, MY Sawyer.

AND ANOTHER THING; SCREW YOU CHRISTMAS MUSIC FROM PEOPLE WHO CANT SING. How is it even legitimate to play Christina Aguilera singing 'O Holy Night' or Nsync and their nasty ass version of Christmas songs? How does that not make Jesus angry? How does that not make every angel cry blood tears? And not make my ears bleed? So fuck you, musak with WORDS, you baby killer.

Yes, this special brand of 'holiday' music kills babies, 7.342% of children who come into contact with this treacherous excuse for musical celebration shall combust - without warning - into a pile of grape jello. It's a terrible fate for a repulsive cause....

Fuck you J.J. Abrams and fuck you FOX. *dwells on that* *simmers*
Previous post Next post
Up