Thursday, September 2
"Bron-Y-Aur Stomp" is the bluesiest and most fucking awesome song ever written.

Maybe I'm having mood swings or got something up my ass that I still don't realize is there, but I'd been pissed off pretty much throughout the whole fucking day in school, and if I hadn't controlled myself, I probably would've been the spitting image of Sid Vicious and his crazy snarl. Or maybe I've really sunken into the belief that everybody sucks. No, that is a fact.

I had to give quite a few people the magic finger today. Including Leah and Mauricio. Leah because I fucking hate her and Mauricio because he's fucking awesome. People were despised, hot men were stared at, friendships were rekindled. I hung out with absolutely no one over the entire summer since July 12th or so. That's pretty fucking long. And AIM isn't my most favorite thing. Not as personal. And you won't be able to laugh at my hyperventilational sort of laugh either. I laugh like I'm dying of the bubonic plague. And 90% of all the times I laugh I laugh real fucking hard and my abs start to hurt like you're taking two cow ass branders and searing both sides of the bottom of my ribs. Kind of ironic when I always look like this, huh?

I hate cameras, so I use the same pictures over and over.

One of the most horrible things that can happen is - Well, I am going to explain it to you uneducated little darlings. When you see this really hot good looking guy, and you keep staring and marvelling at his beauty, then you hear him talk. He turns out to be the biggest fucking jerk in the world, next to Gwar times two. Wow, that feels good, I haven't dissed Gwar in a long time. I hope I'm not going soft. That really ruins it for me. I think that happened twice today, but I don't remember who the second dude was, or what he looked like.

Overall, my classes turned out alright, no one bothered the shit out of me and causing me to kick them in the crotch no matter what the gender for it will hurt either way. Except for Leah, but thank goodness to God to cheesecake to Jimmy Page that she wasn't in any of them or my lunch. As you guessed, the teachers' blah blah talk/bullshit/Gwar/Dashboard crap was indeed boring, and I should've had my chefs' cookware catalog with me to waste the time by and their worthless safety hazard warning speeches. I want to order that homemade ice cream maker and glass, yes glass, frosted glass actually, toaster.

Lunch was blah, at least it was A lunch. A lunch was better last year though. Like you fucking care. Don't worry, I don't either. So I'll keep my fingers folded into a fist and rest my hands on my lap. No typing about shit neither of us cares about.

When I get home, my mom starts complaining why I don't like anything and that as long as people don't bother you and you don't think about other people there's no reason to hate school. True, but part of it. You are forced upon to interact with other such fuckheads. And some bitches make a big deal when you are called on by the teacher against your own goddamn personal egotistical will for the answer to the useless bullshit algebra question. I got it wrong, and all these 2 cent prostitutes in my class are begging, "No, but I got this answer, sir!" to the teacher. Fuck you, all I need is a 20 year old porno mag, Led Zeppelin box set, a solar-powered calculator that came free with a fancy Five Star binder, and I'm set for life. Fuck diplomas and doctors' degrees and green wood panneled station wagons. I got my porn, and I'm happy.

So the mother starts complaining through the entire time I'm cooking Eggo waffles in the 50 year old rusty burnt up looking toaster oven, none of which are factual in the least bit. Shit like, "Nobody likes you and never talks to you, that's why you're so angry looking," or "You're the queen of talking, you never shut up, you talk all the time, and in school no one wants to talk to you." She takes me as a valley girl who everyone wants to gag with a red hot spoon that's just been up Phil Donahue's pedophile ass.

Wow, that was long, and I doubt anyone will read all of it.

It's pretty dumb that I get more comments for my shorter posts, and not my longer in-depth ones about mindless cowshit. Whatever, suit yourself, and be shitful people and not comment on stuff that really does matter. Well that matters more to me, that is. Come on, someday my hands are going to fall off from the severe arthritis from typing all this.


Christina N. @ 6:10 PM