Wednesday, November 24
Drinking milk gives me energy. And I wonder why cows don't have much energy at all. They walk around eating grass all day. Kind of like me, because I sit around smoking grass all day. Just kidding.

Damien is a very cool name, but every time I see it I think of the little fuck from South Park who has a mouth that looks like a mustache. Oh yeah, and he's the son of Satan too. And from reading Damien's journal entries, I'm guessing she's just like the devil when it comes to raising hell in the bedroom. I applaud you. It's nothing to be ashamed of, having such a skill. Wayne must be very, very lucky.

Haha, I wonder if he says "I'M NOT WORTHY! I'M NOT WORTHY!" pretty often.

Listening to "Don't Cry" is not helping me write this post that is not intended to be sad.

Let me have a sip of milk and take a breather for a second. Every girl needs to grow tall and save her pelvis from deteorating and turning into powdered baby formula. Oh man, how am I supposed to sit? But then again, I'd probably smash my bladder by then also. And my pancreas and whatnot. No Duff joke included.

I am very much thinking she resides in Canada, no? Oh man, Canada, Canada, Canada. I've visited that country about three times in my life. Each one very different than the other. First one I was the size of one of Axl Rose's flappy butt cheeks, yeah just one, and the second time, it was pouring like how his fat would pour if we were to ever melt it at 500 degrees over a spit. I was about nine or ten years old, pretty short back then, holding an umbrella and walking the crowded streets about around eleven o'clock at night. While hitting almost every adult that I walked by with the edge of the umbrella and pissing every single one off. I'm surprised none of them whacked me with the back of their hand onto the gutter and therefore wetting my ass. It would've been very easy anyway. Dumbasses.

There was one old man that I hit by accident, right above the chin, and if it had a blade on the end of it, he would've had three chins.

On our roadtrip from Quebec to Montreal, oh god. Five fucking hours of rain, rain, grass, fart smells, grass, and Marlboro.

Damien has a cat named Bowie. That would be cool if the little twat (just kidding) grows up to be just as hot as the real Bowie man himself. A good suggestion, puff the little dude's hair bright red. Now that is hot. I'd have ambitions for the little thing as it's growing up.


Christina N. @ 9:48 PM