Thursday, November 11
Today was my first day of Drivers' Ed. It sucked. So many latino ball sacking bastards who wear so much cologne pungent enough to equal to nine pounds of cocaine. I'm surprised none of them hit on me yet, for they hit on every single thing with the slight bit of breast tissue. And I'm thankful for that, they're as ugly as a person from Gwar who just rubbed their face against Lionel Ritchie's ass. Our teacher, Mr. Bell, holy fucking god he is the spitting mirror image of the coach in Beavis and Butt-Head. Same hair, same body type, same clothes, same teeth, same voice, same dumbshittedness. I really wish I had a camera, so I could take his picture and compare the two fucks. Boy would that be funny. I bet if the dude looked at a life-size picture of the Beavis and Butt-Head coach, he'd be caressing his army pancake crew cut of a hair doo, saying, "Oh you sexy Mr. Bell, how I do astonish myself with my undeniable sex. I'd like to jingle your bell!"

Dinner was eaten on plastic plates and forks this evening. Because the kitchen remodelling just started. And being that all contractors like to fuck their tool benches up the ass and rub it in nice and hard, it's going to take a while and not the two days that we were told it would allot.

Man did I piss off a lot of educators this day.

French was boring.

History was boring. But we did go to the computer lab to work on well you know what the useless shit is, but I decided to get my Photoshop-made masterful works of art onto a floppy disc so I could get them onto my computer. And make then make a couple more pieces of crap. The teacher was looking over my shoulder as I was making a Lizard King icon. But she's cool so I didn't get penalized.

Never eat Necco Candy Wafers. I was given a pack and believe it or not, they taste worse than my boiling shit brown chinese herbal medicine I have to drink twice a day. Candy tasting worse than dog manueur.

I'd like to see Molly have a hissyfit someday. Or pull a Christina's mom. Pull a Christina's mom as in freak out like a menopausal fifty two year old who has twenty pairs of biege tinted stretchy mesh granny panties in her drawer. But then again, I'd like to see a lot of people blow their heads off. Literally too. Especially the french teacher. I don't know how she puts up with all my bullshit. Then again, I don't know how I put up with all my bullshit either.

My presentation on movies of the 1920s went overwhelmingly, surprisingly well. I was the only lazy fucker who copied a bullet list of facts off the internet and read them off the paper and made a crappy collage out of shitty computer printouts and two pieces of fading blue construction paper - In conclusion, I got extra credit.

Lauren called me afterschool. She told me why she'd been absent for the past two days but I forgot what it was. But I did remember her telling me about my ex-friend Ilona's party that I was not invited to. The party sucked anyway and I highly doubt, no guarantee, 100%, that there was no booze. She said that Ilona felt there was someone missing and it took her a long time to figure out it was me. Some friends I have. While Lauren was blabbing about some other stuff, I had to keep asking her over again what she said because the during the entire time I was trying to install this downloaded off of LimeWire Photoshop 6.0 or something onto my dad's computer. I' a shitty friend, I don't really listen to what you say unless it actually means something to me. I am aware that I am not better than anyone at all and it makes me even less better when I treat people like that. But it's a habit and I'm fucking horrible at dropping habits.

My computer is a fucking piece of shit. I can't install Photoshop onto it because some registry keys I think are missing from it so it can't open up zip files.

So I got to wear my new sexalicious shirt which I posted a picture of a while ago, today. Thank Vicki Sexy for selling shirts with shelf bras. Didn't have to wear a brassiere so my miniscule boobs got cold and breezy, but it's a refreshing feeling. The shirt is a sleazy piece of spandex, you have to feel sleazy in order to wear it.

Two nights ago I had a dream about Axl and he was getting so fucking pissed and menstrual it was goddamn spank your ass kill your lungs hilarious.


Christina N. @ 7:42 PM