(no subject)

Oct 29, 2003 23:30

Fucking hell yeah.

Marieh pack your bags, Jason said he'd dress up as Elvis if we get married in Vegas.

I want to marry you. Right now. As in this second. It's taking quite a deal of self-restraint not to go wake you up and drag you down to the nearest chapel in your pajamas. The sad thing? I don't even think I have enough money in my wallet right now to get a marriage certificate. I'm pretty sure I got kicked out of my band or they have all died, either or I'm screwed. Marieh needs to sell some more pictures to Maxim so we can get some more food stamps. I wish I was joking. Okay I am about the food stamps, although we are really poor. Hey, there's another reason to get married, you know besides deep-seated passionate love. Tax cuts!

So, as you can see, there are several reasons for us to all hop in a van to Vegas asap.

They found a hair of Lacey Peterson's in a pair of Scott's pliers that were on his boat, which he probably BASHED HER HEAD IN WITH. When the fuck are they going to just put the fucker behind bars, he obviously did it. When I kill Jason I'm going to buy loads of tarp and have him show up in the lake I'm playing in and then suddenly be found "at my brother's" ten miles from Mexico (where, interestingly enough, we cannot extract people for murder charges) with $10,000 and a fake ID and dyed hair.

He's like the worst killer ever.
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