Alright
So, I'm going to have a bunch of different friends on here than on myspace, so I'll try to write different stuff than my shitty myspace blogs. In fact, I'll tell you what happened yesterday, since that was interesting:
Spring break. Thursday. I don't have a shirt on. This girl knocks on my door and I, being still a little sleep groggy, answer it half naked. This leads to an interesting conversation in which she gives me her brother's cell phone number (?). After that, she leaves in a black van with no license plate. While fear grips my heart and the gangsterness of the van, I pick up the phone and dial the number...
it seems they need a white boy to do some dirty work.
And here I go thinking I would be able to sleep in today.
I don't put a shirt on and head out to my car. The trunk still has all my equipment from last night, so I don't have to restock from my cave. The girl walks over and gets into the passenger seat (which I find to be weird, since I thought she left with the van).
"Are you as good as they say you are?" she askes.
"It depends on how good they say I am,"
"They say you're really good," she answers.
"Define really,"
"It means 'very'"
"Define good,"
"It's sort of like, when things aren't bad,"
"Then yeah," I reply, my voice gruff like my beard, "I guess I am."
My foot hits the accelerator, hard, and we're thrown forward as I accidently leave the parking break on. She looks sideways at me, but I ignore her. The break slides down and we're off, racing towards....well, I have to find that out.
"Where is the target?"
"....you are," she whispers, drawing a 12-gauge from under her trenchcoat and cocking it. My brains are splattered everywhere as she pulls the trigger and I die.
Hopefully today doesn't suck as much.
Spring break. Thursday. I don't have a shirt on. This girl knocks on my door and I, being still a little sleep groggy, answer it half naked. This leads to an interesting conversation in which she gives me her brother's cell phone number (?). After that, she leaves in a black van with no license plate. While fear grips my heart and the gangsterness of the van, I pick up the phone and dial the number...
it seems they need a white boy to do some dirty work.
And here I go thinking I would be able to sleep in today.
I don't put a shirt on and head out to my car. The trunk still has all my equipment from last night, so I don't have to restock from my cave. The girl walks over and gets into the passenger seat (which I find to be weird, since I thought she left with the van).
"Are you as good as they say you are?" she askes.
"It depends on how good they say I am,"
"They say you're really good," she answers.
"Define really,"
"It means 'very'"
"Define good,"
"It's sort of like, when things aren't bad,"
"Then yeah," I reply, my voice gruff like my beard, "I guess I am."
My foot hits the accelerator, hard, and we're thrown forward as I accidently leave the parking break on. She looks sideways at me, but I ignore her. The break slides down and we're off, racing towards....well, I have to find that out.
"Where is the target?"
"....you are," she whispers, drawing a 12-gauge from under her trenchcoat and cocking it. My brains are splattered everywhere as she pulls the trigger and I die.
Hopefully today doesn't suck as much.