I think I need a massage, not Bengay or IcyHot, thank you very much. My joints have been cracking like firecrackers soaked in napalm. Believe it or not, I'm one of those weirdos who have the ability to crack their sternums, or crack their ankles where they'd be heard nice and clear during a Who concert where everyone's stoned to high heaven. It's crazy, and feels damn good.
Last night I watched America's Ugliest Bathrooms on TLC. I highly recommend it for you obsessive-compulsive Jack Nicholson's.
Listening to Led Zeppelin while walking to and from school makes me happy. If I were on 'shrooms, I would probably be skipping like a fucking pansy, or maybe I'd just look like Axl taking a leisurely stroll down the street, 20 pound love handles and all. There's no fucking need for Zoloft, all you need is bulgy-pantsed British men with luscious hair far better than Farrah Fawcett who got laid so much, I'm surprised their balls aren't crawling with ants and shellfish by now.
My homeroom teacher could suck my ass. He wrote me up for a cut.
My mom gave me 5 dollars today apart from the usual 3 to eat all the fuck I wanted at lunch. But no, I was an unappetiteful hooochie ho and wasn't hungry.
I'm working on a mosiac in art class. It sucks so far. I have failed you again, my dear Jimmy. For my picture is this.
So we didn't go shopping this weekend. What a bummer. To cheer myself up, I baked a cake yesterday afternoon. The last one I baked was gorgeous, Axl would've snorted it up his sweaty nostril in sheer bliss. But this latest one, just looks like one of his 40 something year old saggy testicles.
I'm assuming that's what one would look like. If I actually knew, oh man would I be the luckiest bitch around. Next to the lucky bitch who got to marry Izzy Stradlin some years ago.
I should stop making fun of the poor guy. I bet you're all tired of it already. But, you know, I could just keep going on forever and ever. And I'll never get tired of it. By the time I moved out of here and get a job, get laid, get a new house, sleeping in the gutter, sleeping with your dog, whatever the fuck I'll be doing; I'd have filled an entire encyclopedia full of pussy jokes. That's right, 26 volumes for every aspect, letter, number, expiration date of human life, all relating to Axl Rose (negatively). Just wait til he gets a hold of it. Then it's time to say goodbye to Christina for good and once and for all. That is, if he isn't pussy enough to actually do something about it besides bitch and blow his dreadlocks off of that shiny red cheeky head of his.
Christina N. @ 5:49 PM
