Friday, November 19
I only offered this to my LiveJournal friends, but now I will gladly write one for you if you'd like.

Leave a comment if you would like me to write an entire entry on you. It won't be just my opinions or what I truly think of you, but just general thoughts and pessimistic shithead sarcastic humor that I usually include in my daily posts. No worries, I don't hate anybody on my friends list so no need to fret about receiving a hard-on Christina's Mom-Like Bitch Broadcast.


*pulse pulse*

Greatest fucking thing, ever. It's an inside joke, dumbass. About a certain man with a certain volcano in his pants. That single mound of pulsating man lava is constantly sending every damn Richter scale on the eastern seaboard all the way back to Japan, even where male volcanos are miniscule, going crack-like. I bet if he and Mt. Saint Helens were to dual it out, he would win, jacking up an entire new continent while at it. Hell, maybe we'll have a new planet in our solar system. And if he were, the slightest ever chance, to read this right now, I'd have as much a chance of having him give me oral pleasure as Ponch from C.H.I.P.S. does. Unless the dude has some weird short chubby Crest toothpaste model fetish that the entire world doesn't know about. Alright, I'll stop there.

She used to scratch her ex-boyfriend's legs with her long toenails. I have no idea how that would be useful, being that I think one's groin gets itchy way more often than one's legs. But, everyone has their own unique scratching posts. However, this odd habit would be useful if that boyfriend ran track. Has anyone else noticed that after running outside in the cold weather makes your legs itch like hell afterwards? No, please do not assume that I purposefully run outside every morning at 6:00 to keep my buns in shape and unclog my heart's tunnels of love. It's from gym class, where they force you to pull a Forrest Gump and speedwalk your ass off until your heart explodes like a baked potato charged up Eric Cartman's elephant of an ass. Well anyway, if the ex-boyfriend ever was on the track team or some shit like that, and suddenly finds himself trying so fucking hard to scratch them hairy legs with those short, blunt, wiggly piggly fingers of his, could just call on Brittany from the sidelines, make her sit down on the ground in front of him, take her shoes off, and scratch away.

I haven't seen this person since about three days after the last day of school, of last year. Since I found out this year that she wasn't coming back, school just wasn't the same. No more of the amusing bullshit that we'd talk about. Even if we'd only been friends for a portion of my freshman year. But I live on.


Christina N. @ 7:20 PM