I finished reading some rather awful poems ten minutes ago; they made me cringe. Found the two torn books in the old, dusty drawers I had opened as I was curious. Well I thought I shouldn't have.

The author? Me, at fifteen years old.

I'm here hoping a (respectable) celebrity is having a birthday soon so I can post a loud greeting in CAPS.

It seems like everyone's birthday is over; at least everyone I know.

And I hear FOB is experimenting with metal for a change. Good luck, guys.