Jon Walker approves of my plan
Apparently, no one has five things they associate with me. That's okay. I'm forgettable, apparently. I mean, Sena? Who is that bitch and what does she stand for? Nobody knows!
I am slap happy right now after getting my ass handed to me for eight hours today. Why for the love of Pete did I have to get a physically demanding job? Why couldn't I stay in an office and do jack shit and sit down and play online for eight hours a day? Because I'm an idiot. Also, offices make me crazy in a kinda sorta homicidal way, so, yes. Had I stayed in an office, you would have probably seen me on CNN holding people hostage and screaming about the motherfucking postage machine. But I used to have an office and a desk and a chair where I could sit! Now I no longer have feeling in my big toes. It has its up sides--I totally didn't feel it when I stepped on that nail a couple days ago. That was freaky. One of the managers I work with has been wearing a pedometer, and apparently we average 45,000 steps in an 8 hour day. That's fucking insane.
Also, why am I not a bazillionaire? I need to become a BNF in some gullible fandom. Like bandom! And I will become a BNF and I will write terrible Ryan/Brendon where Ryan cuts himself and Brendon burns himself and they fall in love and heal each other, only it goes wrong and in the end Ryan burns himself and Brendon cuts himself and it's tragic and they die bleeding in a fire. Bitches, you know somebody's already asked for that shit on patdslashseek.
Anyway, I will write horrible Ryan/Brendon stories, and I will call them Ryden and speak often of my dislike of, um, Jon! I will hate Jon for no reason. Because there really is no reason to hate Jon Walker. Hating Jon Walker is like hating unicorns! Hating Jon Walker is like hating rainbows, okay? But I will talk shit about Jon and write tragedies about Brendon's misery and pain and I will become a BNF. And then I will fake a robbery and cry about how the robbers stole my laptop and my TV and my, um, fuck. My flat screen TV and my surround sound and my fourteen iPods. I will cry and cry and cry, and then I will make a sockpuppet. I will make a sockpuppet who will organize a fund to replace all of my shit and people will send me lots and lots of money and I will lol at them because really, bitches? How the fuck am I posting about getting robbed if I don't have a laptop, okay? People are gullible. And I deserve their money so I can pay my bills.
ETA: Wait! I have to end this right just for nunshavingfun. And also? I'm drunk.
I am slap happy right now after getting my ass handed to me for eight hours today. Why for the love of Pete did I have to get a physically demanding job? Why couldn't I stay in an office and do jack shit and sit down and play online for eight hours a day? Because I'm an idiot. Also, offices make me crazy in a kinda sorta homicidal way, so, yes. Had I stayed in an office, you would have probably seen me on CNN holding people hostage and screaming about the motherfucking postage machine. But I used to have an office and a desk and a chair where I could sit! Now I no longer have feeling in my big toes. It has its up sides--I totally didn't feel it when I stepped on that nail a couple days ago. That was freaky. One of the managers I work with has been wearing a pedometer, and apparently we average 45,000 steps in an 8 hour day. That's fucking insane.
Also, why am I not a bazillionaire? I need to become a BNF in some gullible fandom. Like bandom! And I will become a BNF and I will write terrible Ryan/Brendon where Ryan cuts himself and Brendon burns himself and they fall in love and heal each other, only it goes wrong and in the end Ryan burns himself and Brendon cuts himself and it's tragic and they die bleeding in a fire. Bitches, you know somebody's already asked for that shit on patdslashseek.
Anyway, I will write horrible Ryan/Brendon stories, and I will call them Ryden and speak often of my dislike of, um, Jon! I will hate Jon for no reason. Because there really is no reason to hate Jon Walker. Hating Jon Walker is like hating unicorns! Hating Jon Walker is like hating rainbows, okay? But I will talk shit about Jon and write tragedies about Brendon's misery and pain and I will become a BNF. And then I will fake a robbery and cry about how the robbers stole my laptop and my TV and my, um, fuck. My flat screen TV and my surround sound and my fourteen iPods. I will cry and cry and cry, and then I will make a sockpuppet. I will make a sockpuppet who will organize a fund to replace all of my shit and people will send me lots and lots of money and I will lol at them because really, bitches? How the fuck am I posting about getting robbed if I don't have a laptop, okay? People are gullible. And I deserve their money so I can pay my bills.
ETA: Wait! I have to end this right just for nunshavingfun. And also? I'm drunk.