Friday, December 31

In the year 2005 I resolve to: Stop checking my e-mail at 3:00 in the morning. Get your resolution here

SO TRUE.




Guess I'd make a post before the day ends. So I won't freak later on that I missed a day for my quest to create a record breaking journal of most consecutive posts.

My folks' party is going swell I guess. Asian karaoke music is very loud. Very bad singing is going on. So that equals a kick ass party. While I'm up here alone typing dumb shit while my belt is going to explode from excess pasta devouring. Some people couldn't make it, because one dude's wife hasn't come home for some reason and two other brothers have come down with a really bad flu. Sucks for them. I'm going through enough boredom and horniness, and lack of fulfillment/cure of that horniness too, while craving for some fucking chocolate.

God, I had so much shit to say earlier today, but I'm sorry kids, no funny shit for you today. Next year, I promise.

I'm currently waiting for Jay Leno to come on, for he apparently has some interesting guests tonight. Motley Crue and some other cool fucker whom I forgot.

Why the fuck is Green Day wearing white? Have they gone Axl from "Paradise City" or something? In other words, they're turning into pussies. I'm ashamed. Very ashamed. More ashamed than before.

The news doesn't fucking need to show credits.

I really feel like going somewhere right now. I haven't moved in such a fucking long time from this pleather green chair. The only reason I'm going to get up is to eat pasta and chicken. Perhaps a drink or two. No alcohol for me, I am forbidden to drink it. That sucks.



Thursday, December 30


How the fuck do you get this on? This has seriously got to hurt. And once it's up your ass, you can't even see the fucking hearts anymore. Just imagine trying to walk with this trudging up your crack. I'm sorry, but being sexy shouldn't have to go this far. And I doubt any dumb shit bitch who wears this will even get lucky tonight. She'll just come up with coal panties instead of diamond panties, if you know what I mean.

I saw it in the Victoria's Secret (surprise surprise, where the fuck do you think it came from?) catalog that came in the mail today. I may have looked like a total crazy jackass, but once I saw it, I started cracking up.

So tensions have been rising lately. My folks' party is tomorrow, and oh man, just think of all the food. And my future flabs. My mom is making her famous pasta and I don't think the little kiddie fucks will have their fair share. Well, too fucking bad. Because Christina is around. I'm glad that Jeannie is coming, so I won't be bored as fuck all night cramped up in my room waiting for someone to be online. Which no one will be anyway, due to fucking until that ball drops at Times Square. Or rather not, who the hell would stop having sex just to watch a bomb that doesn't explode drop 10 MPH down a 30 ft pole?

Times Square is so fucking overrated. Every year I watch it drop. No explosion. No fireworks. No surprise chippendales. It's fucking boring, and the only thing that explodes is a chick's bra from surprise shock and joy. I'm a chick, I don't want to see another chick's jugs pop out. The only goddamn thing that lights up is the phony little shit sign that says what year it has just turned. Big fucking deal. How the hell is this the most popular attraction in the whole goddamn dumbshitted world? Come on, Disney World kicks way more ass than Times Square. Fireworks, Mickey Mouse and Mickey Mouse shaped nachos, asshole. No cold weather. No naked men flapping their painted beer bellies in your face, leaving sweat and semen on your perfect makeup - turning your sexy red lipstick into a pasty pale chapstick.

I might have mentioned chippendales, but actually I think they look fucking scary and are way too beefy for me. Their boobs are bigger than mine. That's really, utterly, sad. I could have just said, "No surprise italian male supermodels," but that's too long. So I just leave it off for a pointless paragraph of its own right after the aforementioned word's own paragraph.

It is extremely hard to resist reading The Dirt. Just flipping through the pages makes me go crazy. It's like me standing five feet in front of Izzy Stradlin. Can't resist to fuck. But in this case with this book, I can't resist to read. But I'm proud of myself for not reading any of it yet, besides the outside cover that is nothing but conceited bullshit that newspaper reviews have said about it. It is also extremely hard to finish the other two books that must be read before getting to The Dirt. If someone paid me, then I would probably hide the book away from myself. Also known as hiding it away only to lose it, and never finding it again.



Wednesday, December 29

You are Sebastian Bach, former frontman of Skid
Row. You have an almost angelic beauty about
you, but your angelic persona quickly
disappears as soon as you open your mouth - you
curse like a sailor! You have a reputation for
being a bad boy, but its just because you are
highly opinionated and fiercely protective of
your friends, family and loved ones, so you'll
take it to blows to defend any of the above.
While most people view you as a raging party
animal, you are actually quite intelligent and
enjoy engaging in intellectual and
philosophical conversation with just about
anyone who can keep up with you. Argumentation
and debate are your strong points, you can
argue any point you believe in to the death,
and you always have to have the last word. You
generate a lot of respect with your attempts to
bring light to issues you feel strongly about
through, through song or other creative
outlets, however you'd generate even more
respect if you learned to bite your tongue and
curb that wicked temper once in a while!


What 80's Butt Rocker Are You?
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These fuckers at Metal Sludge are fucking pissing me off. There's this thread called Top 3 '80s Hairbands, and all these shitheads start putting Guns n' Roses in their lists, when I finally have the balls to say that "Guns n' Roses is no fucking hair band" these two fucktards start pissing me off, one of which calling me an asshole. Well, that fucking Poison fan could just shove that cowboy hat up his ass, and shove his own head into a mechanical bull's metallic anus. People could be so fucking dumb, I just have nothing to say about that. Believe what you want, and I'll keep on believing that you are full of shit.

All in all, today was exceptional. Jeannie came over and we watched Mean Girls. Yeah, call me a fucking sellout who doesn't know shit about good movies, but that was a good movie actually. Funny shit that you shouldn't take seriously unless like aforementioned, you're some fucking Poison fan. Lauren calls in the middle of the movie inviting me to go to the mall.

So Lauren and I go to the mall at 2:00. We had a great time. She got lots of clothes and I got lots of music. Finally, I get the Zeppelin DVD/pure sex in one box. Jimmy Page is so fucking adorable. But no, his talent comes first, asshole. I haven't even finished watching the first disc yet, and I hope there's gonna be a John Paul Jones solo of some sort. That man is fucking amazing and underestimated. He reminds me of Izzy.

Screw Amazon, I bought the shit that I was going to order there already. I drag Lauren to the book store and walking around it in circles for about five times, I see on a low shelf hiding in the little corner by some big ass book that I couldn't give a fuck was about who, I found The Dirt. I went crazy. I went giddy. I freaked. I bought it. The problem is, I promised that I'd finish these two other books that I'm currently reading before I get to that. It's really hard. I think I'm going to break this promise only to regret it later.

I saw Brittany in what seemed like years!



Tuesday, December 28
Since no one is probably going to comment to the last post, just thought I'd make one that actually has material in it.

And you know what? I just forgot what I was about to say.




I know like only...two people read this, but I'm obsessive-compulsive. So I'd like my two time-wasters to look the same.

Post your completely honest opinion of me as a comment to this entry. I don't give a fuck about what you say, whether it's ass-kissing or ass-kicking. Make it as long as you want, or as short as you want. And no, you fuckwit, no anonymous posting. Because I'm a curious motherfucker. But to make you feel better, you don't have to post this in your journal.



Monday, December 27
look what i masturbate to when i'm bored

I randomly found that picture off of Myspace and saved it because I think it wins the award for Most Hot Guys in One Photo. Besides Guns n' Roses. Or actually, Most Hot Hair Doos in One Photo. I especially like the tallest dude who's facing to the right. I need a life. Better yet, I need some ass.

So the sibling listens to Green Day. Ever since she got that new radio/boombox for Christmas (which I rightfully should have gotten) she turns it up real fucking loud to all the shit that she listens to. For example, Avril Lavigne and Hilary Duff. Very typical for such an age. But not very typical for my Zeppelinized mind or when I'm trying to read for once. That song "American Idiot" just really gets up my grill and it fucking hurts. "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" is better. As a matter of fact it's actually good, but after one listen it gets stuck in your head like diabetes to Willy Wonka.

I'm sorry Hanoi Rocks, that Green Day took your song title. But you should be glad that the song doesn't suck that bad.

I don't know what I think of Green Day. Some days I sort of think positively of them, other days I totally think negatively of them. Whatever, I'll just put them aside as one of those "just there" bands.

It's very unfair that I did not get that boombox. I just discovered a few days ago, the day that we went to the party at where she got it, before leaving the house, that my cassette player/handheld radio didn't work anymore. My CD player, well, I even wrote an entire post a while back listing all its problems. And my computer is on the brink of meltdown. I'm at a loss. Then again I'm at a loss when it comes to a lot of things. Like getting some ass.

This adware is really pissing me off. After about every five words I type, two more pop up. I've tried almost every cleaner there is, and all the shit keeps coming back. My dad says it's because that Windows Millenium is now obscelete. Not to mention that it also sucks and isn't as strong as the new versions to right against spyware and that kind of shit. Let's just hope he's right. Or maybe it's just because I keep getting the free shit from download.com or something.

Lauren and I need to hang out. I concur that I probably promised her that we would hang out. And that was a year ago I think. But as a matter of fact, I think I owe quite a few people some of my time. Just can't remember who at the moment. Well I'm not going to call her, for I have an issue (hatred) of telephones and she hasn't been online in ages. Then I guess we won't hang out then. Unless someone would like to do the phoning for me. I hate answering the phone, and I hate answering the door. Fucking tards could just fuck off and leave me be. But nooo, my folks always make me, the one with the man voice to answer the phone and to speak to the person at the door. I don't see what their fucking problem is. My folks are better looking than me, don't have odd opposite gender voices - they should be the fucking ones who answer the door.




I'm trying not to watch Welcome to the Videos every day, or else I get really fucking tired of it and it becomes useless. I want to get the Use Your Illusion I & II tours DVDs, so then I'll waste more of my time with those instead and alternate between each DVD. But not until I get Led Zeppelin first. I heard there's more than five, five, fucking hours of footage in that. Five hours of God, can't pass up on that. I'm getting so excited about being able to purchase it, that I might even ask my mom for her credit card (only to pay her back with my cash) tomorrow and order. It'll most likely come in two or three days, that's how dependable Amazon is. If it were a person I would probably be giving it oral pleasure right now, it has treated me that well.

Someday I would like to protest FYE. With my shitty mathematical skills, I'm estimating that they charge approximately 30% more than the regular price of other stores. Fucking assholes. They have so many fucking customers already, and they still charge us that fucking much. I swear, someday I will go to the mall, pull my pants down, and press my ass up against their fucking window. For how long? For as long as it takes them to lower their goddamn "reasonable" prices.

Or if until they bribe me with a free product, then I'll stick my buns back in.

It's a few minutes past midnight already. And I am not the least fucking bit tired. I feel like I can write forever. But about what? Not about how much some people dislike me like I said I would someday in the last post, because I'm not feeling negative right now. Or let's say, negatively negative right now. I'm always negative, but that doesn't mean I'm feeling downright shitty. So right now I'm positively negative. Oxymoron, man. The second half of the word describes me though.

My folks are having a New Years' party on Friday. Originally we were supposed to have a Christmas party, but the kitchen wasn't done being rennovated yet. Well now it is. And it's sexy.

I'm not sure if I mentioned this already, but two years ago I think, I was forced to go to a shitass party with my folks, when they already said I could go to my now ex-friend Ilona's Halloween party. Well my dad just got a new job back then and it was one of his co-workers who had invited him, and he needed more allies, or a positive exposition, at work. The party was a good opportunity for that. So I was forced to go. It pissed me off very badly that I couldn't go to Ilona's party, which I heard later was fucking insane. As a compromise, my mom promised that someday when the house was completely finished of all its rennovations, that I could have a party to invite all of my crazy ass friends over.

Well, now I called it off, two years later when everything is done. Why? First of all, I barely have any friends. I'm a horrible host, I like to tear people's property apart, and I'm not surprised if some of my friends like to tear shit apart either. And the fact that my folks are going to be around, which minuses the fun level of the party. Added to that, I'm a complete boring fuck in person. Don't be decieved by the shit you read here. I'm as emotionless as Ben Stein on weed and I have as much to say as Izzy Stradlin. If not less than him. I fucking suck at socializing. No wonder I barely have any friends.

Jeannie might come over sometime this week. To be honest, I'm sort of looking forward to it because I've been needing someone to talk to for the time I've been at home in solitude (not to mention Friday's party also).

I'm getting really excited about ordering that Zeppelin DVD and The Dirt. Come to think of it, before ordering The Dirt, I still have two more books to finish. Goddammit, I'm so fucking slow I really tend to piss myself off. I'm only about half way in Hart's War, which is about four hundred pages, and about a third through Slander. Even though Slander is a small book, I only read it when I'm bored in school, and the other book when I'm at home. You might think that I should be way far, if not already finished, in Slander, but to be honest, I need the fucking grade.

Today I had such a crave to watch While You Were Out and check out how hot Evan is. I think I missed it though. It might've aired at 11:00 AM but no, I was being a lazy fuck and didn't wake up until 12:30. Which Trading Spaces was being shown at that time. Trading Spaces, I fucking hate that show so fucking badly, I seriously cannot come up with a diss for it right now. Except that it is certainly a Gwar-worthy piece of sixty-minute shit. I can't stand it. The host is fucking retarded. She's too fucking perky. Evan's not perky, he's just a dumbass. But a cute one. He even admits that he sucks at math. Hence not having the greatest ability to work on his assigned projects on the show. If you haven't noticed, he struggles quite a bit. And he admits his problems and just goes along with it. Paige Davis of Trading Spaces on the other hand, fucking makes me want to rip my fucking hair out, I can't fucking stand her. I know I know, I don't have much support for my opinion but it's just one of those things that I really cannot explain. Call me a fucking douche, call me a fucking dipshit, but I'm staying firm with my hatred of Trading Spaces.

Not to mention that that show bores the living shit out of me. The people aren't funny. Even when I'm trying too hard to be funny is more funny than them. Stupid dumb shits. And Trading Spaces: Family. Don't even get me started on that.

Okay, I will get started on that. I think it was last year or something, that the family and I went to my dad's friend's house down in Virginia for Thanksgiving or Christmas or something, and while the adults were in the basement singing karaoke and shit, we youngsters were upstairs eating and watching television. Well there were these two other girls with me, one fourteen and the other sixteen I think, both were cousins or something, and being forced to hang out with them, was also being forced to watch an agonizing almost Gwar-praising-just-to-get-out-of-there marathon of Trading Spaces: Family. I seriously, seriously, fell asleep during that, and my head kept falling over and when it was tilted enough I instantly jerked it back and woke up. I did this about every two minutes. It was horrible. They even made me watch Spiderman for like the fourth time. I fucking hate that movie also. The first time watching it was okay, but after that it's like a fucking rusty spiked vibrator up your ass.




Sunday, December 26
Yesterday I was watching this documentary on Bravo, called The Christmas Special Christmas Special. Pat Boone, Bing Crosby, David Bowie, all in one show? That's fucking unbelievable, I can't believe it. Pat Boone, man. Pat Boone!

Alright so Friday all in all was pretty crappy at the party. I had to hang out with Tim, and he's such a fucking poseur. That's right, poseur, because I know my fucking francais. He plays guitar, he skates, he listens to Iron Maiden, and wears jeans that show off his boxers. Well guess what he's not a fucking stud. He doesn't know shit and plus he's fucking ugly. Almost even Gwar ugly. He's so proud about his "asian pride." Even worse, he knows how to play "Stairway to Heaven" and doesn't even fucking know who Jimmy Page is. Asian pride, my fucking ass. It's very hypocritical to make fun of latino wiggers in vietnamese to your other vietnamese homeboys when you hate those latino fucks who do the exact same thing in spanish. He put on the latest Iron Maiden CD when we were playing pool and he didn't have the slightest fucking idea when it was released or whether it was from the '80s, '90s, or later. He asked me if I knew about the Dimebag Darrell murder, and I go on saying shit about how fucking crazy and pathetic it is for a fan to jump onstage, yell shit at the man, and shoot him five times in the head, or however the fuck it happened. Then you should've seen the look on Tim's face. He didn't know shit about it. And he's the one who brought it up.

He also said that he hated it when people wear skate clothes and they don't even fucking skate. He was wearing a Volcom shirt and told me that he can just ride on a skateboard, not do any tricks, and he goes and complains about all those other losers. When he can't do shit himself. Biggest hypocrite I've ever seen since "hypocrite" being typed in size seventy-two font.

I do admit that I wear skate sneakers, all because I think they look fucking awesome, I couldn't give a fuck about being "cool" because fuck, I just like those sneakers. Most of the time my pants are covering 80% of my shoes anyway.

But alas, I did make a new friend. His name is Kenny. And he is about seven years old. He's a sweet kid and boy does his mom make good shrimp. He was the only person at the party besides my folks and two friends who thought positively of me. Everyone else pretty much hated me. I'll get to that another day.

So I got a box of Victoria's Secret lotion and a skirt from Bloomingdale's that night. Why we opened our presents at 9:00 PM on Christmas Eve beats me. When I saw that Bloomingdale's logo on the box after I tore the wrapping off, I was fucking astonished, to recieve something from such a store compared to my Burger King budget. And then I read everyone else's lists on LiveJournal. I see tons of people recieving an entire shopping mall full of shit, while I still don't get much. Oh well, at least I'm not on the road to being a spoiled Paris Hilton. Spoiled in material items and sex. This year I really thought I was getting spoiled, because last year I only got around a maximum of four gifts total. This year was much better. Just compare it to yours.

1. Welcome to the Videos
2. secondhand Nirvana poster
3. notebook with a dog on it
4. hippie purse
5. Guns n' Roses pin
6. $100 from parents
7. skirt
8. Victoria's Secret lotion gift box
9. cow figurine
10. $10 from grandparents
11. Velvet Revolver bracelet

Oh man, that more than doubles last year. I may sound negative, but I do love each and every single one of my gifts, and the people who got me them. To be more of an asshole, I still got two more cards that I still gotta write. I guess I won't write "Merry Christmas" on them anymore. But maybe I will just to look stupid. Which I probably will end up doing while not even noticing.

Wow, Mark Montano from While You Were Out is online. That's fucking insane.

It snowed today, on the day after Christmas. I couldn't even give a fuck. Because people say it isn't good to eat rain or snow anymore. So there's no fucking point. It wasn't even much anyway. Unless I want to get poisoned and bad taste in my tongue from licking it off the ground.

I think I'm gonna go shopping on Amazon.com soon, the place where they have everything that you'll ever need to live off of - for a small price.



Saturday, December 25
Don't you hate it when you're taking a shower and someone abrubtly opens the door and uses the can? And leaving a horrible nuclear explosion that's stronger than the very soap that you're utilizing to get the effect and smell on your body that is the exact opposite of what this person is dropping. My mom always does this to me, and her excuse is that I piss her off all the time so bad that this is her revenge. To bomb me in a situation where I can't get away. Today her daily dilemma was, "No more coconut cream pie for me..." with this grimace on her face, you should know why. This is the exact reason that I am never allowed to lock the door when I am in the bathroom. Every time she does this, I tell her to use the shitbowl in the basement. But the same excuses are always used: "I couldn't hold it in fast enough, so I had to go up here." or "I'm too lazy." Too lazy, my ass.

Even though today is Christmas, it was just any old day. Who gives a fuck anymore. We're asian, we're buddhist. We don't believe in Jesus. But, we do believe in partying.





You are a Hippie. Wow.


What kind of Sixties Person are you?
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No way, man.



Friday, December 24
While You Were Out marathon today. It's been heaven. But sadly this last one is one I'd already seen.

Why do they have to show such good television when I'm actually not going to be home? Fucking assholes. 100 Most Metal Moments marathon is on too. I really wish I had a portable DVD player that doubles as a portable television also.

I gotta take a fucking shower soon, yes, I am bathing on a weekend, and then go to my dad's friend's party. Those things fucking suck, because all the dudes get drunk and we can't go home until about 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning. Sometimes later. But the good thing and the reason that I'm going this time is, I get Christmas presents. Fucking hell yeah. I'm such an asshole like that, but that's the way I am.

My grandparents sent me twenty bucks, so now I'm up to $160 dollars to spend on whatever the fuck I want. And yesterday Monica gave me the same present that she gives me every year, twice a year, Christmas and my birthday, a notebook. She's a great friend, and I like the cute little notebook, but come on, it's about time she knew that I only doodle on furniture. And that all I ever write by hand is schoolwork.

I've still yet to put this Nirvana poster up. It's sexy.



Thursday, December 23
So I've been cleansing my internet social interaction resources (AIM and LiveJournal, dipshit), or at least planning to, and there's still one more itch that I must get rid of here. I want to delete her off my LiveJournalfriends list, but she never uses LiveJournal anymore, so I won't be able to be deleted off her list. This sucks. Because this person really fucking sucks. Krupa, you fucking cunt. Take your emo bullshit somewhere else. Where I doubt it would be appreciated there either.

I had also been considering whether I'd get a new username or not, just to get rid of that fucker. But it's stupid, it's only one fuck. If it were around five or something, the total number of members there are in Gwar, then I probably would get a new one. But luckily enough, it's only her. And the fact that Trent Reznor is an extremely incredible sex god.

Got a new AIM screen name too, just check out the side bar shit. Not mentioning it here, just to piss you off and further increasing risk of freezing the computer. New email too, bitch.

My mom bought a coconut cream pie from Shop Rite. It is fucking delicious. The sibling also bought home about three boxes of extra cupcakes that her stupid classmates wouldn't eat. Even more awesome. Despite the fact that one of her dumbass friends tripped on the boxes and now the cupcakes are demented and smeared their red and white icing all over the interior of the boxes.

Dizzy Reed pisses me off.




I guess no one really got the joke in the last post. Fuckers. And I'm not going to explain it now. If you know me well enough and how much of a crazy fuck I am, you would've pissed your pants. But I guess your panties stayed as dry as your pussy always was always parched and starchy.

Got home, made a sandwich and watched Welcome to the Videos again. Hot sex all in one plastic rainbow disc.

Today was alright. I learned that some more people like me and some more others don't like me. In history class, the whole class was conducting a conversation about what they do on Christmas. When the teacher got to me and asked what I did on Christmas, I said:

"We're asian, so we go to parties and my dad gets drunk."

The whole class fucking cracks up and laughs their asses off, I could feel the entire classroom erupt like an earthquake - full of laughs and diaphragm workouts. They laughed so loud. They laughed for so long. And I really don't get what was so funny about it, seriously. Then the teacher said I should talk more, and that I said interesting stuff. Interesting, my ass. I'm only telling the truth. Which I usually don't. But I'm trying to fix that habit.

The day had an absolutely fabulous start. Because the french teacher was absent. But she left us a quiz and a packet that couldn't be done without reading from the all-french (even the fucking directions) textbook. Bullshit, bitch. Just plain bullshit.

Holy fucking shit guys, my mom gave me a one hundred dollar bill as a Christmas gift last night. One hundred fucking dollars. On one piece of paper. That's fucking ass-slapping, Macaulay gasping, astonishing. I've never owned such a valued piece of paper in my life. She said I should keep up with the good grades. The problem is, I'm actually doing horribly. I guess my teachers had sympathy or something. Sympathy for the devil. Well not really, I'm no devil because I don't have a red tail sticking out of my ass and I don't want a red tail sticking out of my ass.

I guess she really knew how much of a financial problem I had. Come on, my ten year old sibling always has about two hundred dollars in her wallet and buys new shit for herself every fucking week.

There's no fucking point of using an umbrella if it's windy. The fucking thing turns inside out. I'm fucking sick of those things. No more umbrellas for me. I'll just drag my wet ass home.

Last week I sent the sweet neighbors - an elderly couple and their daughter - a card, and turns out that it touched the elderly woman so much that it brought her to tears. It wasn't much that I wrote in it, just included my usual unusual humor. Maybe I should write columns or some shit like that as a future career.

But now I'm starting to think that my sense of humor could be going too far and piss people off in the wrong way. Yesterday it cost me a LiveJournal friend. Maybe it's about time I cool down on certain things. Then again I shouldn't, because it's not a fucking crime to just being yourself.



Wednesday, December 22
DICK AND PUSSY RIGHT HERE, BABY




Okay, on with today's daily shit.





Anyone want this? The branch on top is fucked up, so just look at the other three. I made it out of boredom. Cardboard and acrylic paint.


OH MAN, THAT'S SO FUCKING AWESOME. I LEARNED HOW TO MAKE IT IN GEOMETRY CLASS.


What the fuck is this?

So I like to waste time and my Photobucket account by taking pointless pictures. I hate photography though. I just like looking at funny stuff. Yeah, I know a lot of folks love photography. But I don't. My dad is a photographer. He practices with his camcorder on his family on days that I don't bathe. I don't know how to use a real camera. I don't look good in front of any camera. And that is my crappy explanation of why I don't like photography. I'm not going to write an entire essay as you would probably predict that I would, because I don't fucking feel like it.

Have a good day.



Tuesday, December 21


Did I say that I finished the rock dog already? Well, I had to paint it, and when you paint something you gotta put that something on a piece of paper, then spray away. There was no hot pink spray paint and our only options were either gold or silver. Gold totally kicks way more fucking ass than silver in this case. Silver looks like aluminum that reacts to being scratched with your fingernails on a chalkboard with an excruciating screech. Kind of like Axl Rose's voice. Well, when the dog dried and I took it off the paper, a whole new work of art was discovered. No, this is not up for grabs. I've already decided on its owner. And who the fuck would want this piece of shit anyway? And as for the real poochie, it has already been claimed also.

And no, I am not one of those artistic kids who are so "unique." Because I'm already uniquely dumb. I just like to make fun of my rather amusing shit that I make. Accidental shit, in this case. Usually I hate folks who are oh so artistic - they live and breathe art, and are so let's say, culturally original. They're so fucking dorky and when you happen to walk past them doing their work and they force you to give them your opinion, and you suck up to them and say, "Oh man, that's fucking awesome!" Then they start showing off and explaining the whole meaning behind that piece of shit that they're showing off, wasting your fucking shitful time while your own work is waiting for you to get back and devote your love to it, and actually fucking finish it! But noooo, the fucktard keeps on blabbing meaningless shit. The thing is, it literally is shit that they are saying. With every single person who has done this to me, all I hear is the redundant "from deep within my emotion and thoughts, it reflects what I feel in life" bullshit. Yeah, support this "emotional" crap that you're telling me. Tell me something original. Something surprising. Something that will blow me away and actually interest me. Yeah, interest me, motherfucker. That's the first step to explaining your artwork. It's either that, or shut the fucking hell up.

I don't get how people could constantly go to these student art shows, whether it's a kindergarten exhibition or a college nationwide competition. I don't get how people could go to these things and stay for hours. Yeah, it's cool just staying for about twenty or thirty minutes checking out some of the cool shit, but standing in front of each and every one, talking about what the fuck it could possibly mean, stating redundant arrogant bullshit to make you look smart, for minutes upon minutes upon minutes, and never getting to the fucking point. Come on, art isn't a fucking algebra equation. To me, shitful old me, it's just eye candy and a pleasure to look at. If you're going to stand there and analyze the hell out of it, sit the fuck down somewhere else so I can have a turn to look at it without your fucking fat ass in the way and go write a five page report on the story behind it. When you could just go to the fucking artist themself, who will just start this boring fucktard cycle all over again.

I'm not saying these people are stupid, I'm just saying that they need more personality. Well I'm sure the real artists in this world have plenty of personality, but here I'm bitching about the students I know who are like that. They seriously bore the shit out of me. Some, if not most, are the dorky kinds who also craze over their schoolwork. Don't get me started on that.

So today was a bad day. I think I know why - the horrible green sweater that I wore last week with the red pants. It's bad luck. I hate that goddamn thing now. The reality is, my mom was was supposed to get me the black and red one, but fucking Macy's ran out, and that green and red one was the next best one. But the absolutely shitheaded thing is, I accepted it. Even after she asked me a million times if I wanted it or not, and she'd just go back and return it. But I don't like wearing sweaters, so I don't have that many. That's really fucking obvious. The green sweater is one of my only few that doesn't make me look like Yogi on crack.

The french teacher gave me these nasty looks today. First when the fucktard on the announcements did the salute to the flag, the teacher turns around to check if I was standing up or not. This time I did. Because I figured I was in a bad enough mood already wearing my crappy sweater I didn't want to make things even worse. Even if her checking on me was bad already. Then when I ask to "go to the bathroom" she gave me another nasty look. Well duh, if you know me fucking well enough, I never really go to the bathroom, but instead take a nice ten minute walk and buy some munchies to chomp my fucking teeth with. She probably knows I do that already, because no one ever takes that long to "take a shit" as long as I do. And if she doesn't know, she probably thinks that I got some serious intestinal problems. Nope, wrong person. That's my mom. And grandpa. My mom inherited it from my grandpa. But my dad is the one who likes to shit and stink up all areas of the world.

In history I had to write as much as I could on an essay that I was supposed to do last Friday. Who gives a fuck about that, I had a delicious breakfast sandwich. Sausage this time, no ham.

We watched the shittiest ABC Network movie in drivers' ed. It was called The Accident. Some girls get in a car drunk and get into a car accident, the passenger dying. The driver to live the rest of her life in guilt and ridicule. But the real accident was watching this Gwar awful movie. Yes, I have stamped it with a "Gwar" verb. That's the death penalty for a noun, you know. Damn right I got my grammar skills, bitch.

Lunch was amusing to say the least. I was sitting with this group of people, and one dude sticks his hand down his pants and rubs his balls, then wipes it on the face of the dude sitting next to him. The dude that got sperm-whacked punched the sperm-whacker in the face and he fell over.

English sucked. The teacher handed back out elements of our research papers that we've handed in during past classes. Being that I sit in the front right in front of her old lady ass, she takes my papers as examples of how many corrections most of ours needed. My paper was handed in black and white neat and dandy; to black and white blue and shitty.

Froze my fucking ass walking home. Then made a yummy sandwich and watched Arthur. Hell yeah, Arthur. Not the fucking medieval homefuck, but the aardvark.

Homefuck. Axl makes up the funniest shit.

No editing for this one. It's too long for even the writer themself to read over again.



Monday, December 20
Damien's present came in the mail today. I absolutely love it. The way the package looked, I was thinking it would be a Guns n' Roses t-shirt. But when I opened it, something far better and more meaningful it came out to be, rather than a phony band tee. It's this awesome looking '70s style wool purse. No, not a fuckchop leather Chanel purse, when the word "purse " comes to your feeble dipshitted mind. Usually I'm not a bag person, for I'm one of those people who don't ever need to bring shit around, mostly because I can't afford any shit, and all I use is my pockets to store lunch money and a reminder note or some shit like that. But I fucking adore her gift, and can't wait to use it. Now I'm going to have to find shit to put in it. I have quite the uncontrollable urge to put pot in it, for it looks like the perfect bag for it, but I'm afraid my mother does not buy strong enough zip-lock bags to keep in the freshness. Since I was a kid and she packed my sandwiches and cookies into those shitty bags, they always stunk up the entire lunchbox and the entire one-foot radius of area surrounding the lunchbox. So pot isn't a good idea. This is going to have to be a new adaptation for me, because sometimes I really fucking hate bags that much that I don't even bring my backpack with all of my schoolbooks and crap like that on some occasions, mindless of how much work is due. But this thing is so awesome I'm willing to change.

Now when I wear pants that have no pockets I don't have to stick money in my shoe anymore. I feel sorry for a girl in my art class who was selling Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, because I had a dollar in my shoe for about two hours and it was soggy by then. I used it, which means she took and touched it with her own goddamn hand, so I could purchase some damn chocolate. Oh well, it's money.

Damien's gift also came with a Guns n' Roses pin. Even more awesomeness. Even the letter was awesome. It was sealed with this wax of some sort that was stamped with a peace sign, man. How fucking kick ass is that? Then I got sad because the seal started falling apart.

I had the most sensational day. Lauren got me Welcome to the Videos and a Nirvana poster and loved the Playboy candles I got her. Oh, the kinkyness. When I got home and made a sandwich, I immediately got to watching it. Then my mom had to be a bitch and told me to go do some work and get off of my shitty ass. And I have to say, that Izzy looks fabulous in "Sweet Child o' Mine" and "Paradise City."

But what surprised me, was when I finally get to watch a new episode of While You Were Out, it turned out to be a boring one. This was my downfall of the day.

This new layout totally kicks your saggy Axl ass. Craig Ross has the most gorgeous white man's fro ever to be maintained on this planet's gravitational pull. And for your information, he's the lead guitarist in Lenny Kravitz's band. Took me long enough to find out who he is, for I first fell in love with him from seeing the "Where Are We Runnin'?" video. He looked fucking hilarious when he collapsed from drinking or something. He pulled a Slash. Not to mention that they have similar hair though.

I'm still trying to figure out whether I like the song "Estranged" or not. In some ways it's really good and in some ways it sucks harder than a dehydrated three month old baby boy titfeeding from his mother, who also happens to be Pam Anderson.

Jackson Pollack is my new artistic hero. Not that I ever had one before. We got to pick what project we're doing next in my art class, and I chose to do one of those splatter-shit-all-over-the-canvas things he did. Not because it is easy shit and you could just dump paint all over it or either literally take a nice shit on it and consider it art, but I happen to find his work to be incredible. Fuck you if you think abstract art is just pus cummed onto paper, use your fucking imagination.

The problem is, mine looks totally pathetic. I started doing this weird black graffiti thing before splattering the red paint, and it literally looks like a mess. But not an aritistic mess; that's the problem.



Sunday, December 19
For some damn reason I keep having dreams about being chased by dogs. I'm not going to get into details. This is one of the things that I am actually ashamed to write about. And all this time you thought I had no shame. What's even worse, is that all the dogs are these tiny little pussy dogs who are only the size of one of Jennifer Lopez's buttcheeks.

That reminds me, on that Best of While You Were Out special, while Evan and John were interviewing the client, Andrew the carpenter peaks in through the door and panics that he has to use the bathroom and dashes to it, interrupting the interview. And Evan's like, "He was doing the buttcheek squeeze, there's going to be thunder going on here!"

I laughed my ass off.

Seems as though the more free time I have with nothing to do, the more crap I write here. Oh well, sucks for you having to be a good friend and reading all of my bullshit.

Right now the entire tri-state area is waiting for it to fucking snow. Particularly the students. So there could be no school tomorrow. I doubt it'll drop a dandruff at all. I prefer it to snow during the daytime right when school ends, so I can frolick like a hopeless romantic pussy on my way home. I actually don't care if there's going to be school or not, because I'm still going to be as hopeless and bored as usual. In school there's just the same thing, but I'm surrounded by assholes and the horrible annoying agony of a wedgie up my ass.

No, actually I never get wedgies anymore for some reason. That's a real goddamn good thing. Probably because I don't wear cheap t-shirt type cotton anymore.

I feel like going Christmas shopping.

My mom asked again what I wanted for Christmas from her and my pop pop, and I finally came up with a decision. I'll order some books I really wanted from Amazon.com. They include The Dirt, Tommyland, and The Band That Time Forgot: The Unauthorised Story of Guns n' Roses. There's still a little time to change the selections before they could be delivered in time for the holiday, so suggestions are welcome. Or maybe I shouldn't get books. Other suggestions are welcome also. I'd get clothes, for I am a huge fashion fiend, but there's no online store that has a bunch of stuff that I want all in that one place.

There's practically no one online right now, they all got their sophisticated busy happy lives to live. And I still need a new screen name.







Holy fucking shit. I love Hanoi Rocks, but Jimmy Page, is Michael Monroe ugly. Fugly. Fucking ugly. Seriously, fucking ugly. I feel a picture post of ugliest rockstars coming on. Just wait til I get to Axl.




Alright, so I re-wrapped Lauren's present, because it's one of those giftbox things that the lid is on the bottom, showcasing the shit inside. I wanted it to look like a goddamn present so I had to take the ribbon off and replace the lid in its rightful place. Fuckers, people just don't know how to utilize the brilliant invention that we take for granted, such as boxes. I did a shitty job tying the ribbon, but hey, it's good enough. More than good. It looks fabulous from a distance. And that's more than good enough. For it's going to be unwrapped anyway. I'm very excited to give it to her, I love seeing people's faces light in joy.

I'm getting tired of the LiveJournal layout already. Perhaps the Axl one should come back. It stands the test of time. Unlike his looks.

Oh fucking shit, last night on Headbangers' Ball they played "Welcome to the Jungle" from Live at The Ritz. I was eating ice cream and had the spoon in my mouth, and when I saw it I started to involuntarily eat out my spoon. Talk about a desperate horny loser. They even played Medadeth. I don't know what song it was though, but Dave looked mighty funny with his unusual facial expressions.

Then I turned back to The Best of While You Were Out. I really fucking love that show now. Seriously. The new cast is hilarious. Not to mention that the host, Evan, is pretty damn hot. If you think he's some diddlypopping fag then I suggest you hump an Ace Frehley blow up doll and come back to me with a new opinion when you're done. Done scraping the crabs from Ace off your genitals that is. Anyway, I think I'm growing a new obsession with this show. The old cast was fucking drop dead boring, I fucking hated it. But my mom watched it every time I was eating dinner, so I had to suffer.

The carpenter has the funkiest name - Andrew Dan-oh shit I forgot the rest of his name. Forget it. I'll figure it out later.

I stayed up til three in the morning reading a war novel. That's fucking crazy. But to be even crazier I once stayed up til four or five reading Harry Potter. That was back when I was a bigger dipshit.



Saturday, December 18
Asians don't like Christina. Yesterday at the pep rally, I was sitting with Lauren, Molly, and Amanda. About ten minutes into the fucking event, to the left I noticed that I was sitting next to the sophomore class asian clan. By accident I kicked the girl whom I was sitting next to's foot upon discovering that there was green gum on the bottom of my foot. I said to her I was sorry. She didn't say a damn thing back and in addition to that I think she gave me a look. I really don't get these people. I always run into them, not literally, but occasionally like in the hallway or something, and they always look at me. Whether it's just one, or two together. The girls always give me a look and the dudes are always looking at me. Not in the checking out kind of way, but the "Who is this person?" kind of way. They never talk to anyone, nor to one another either. Whenever they have to, they stay together. Without a word. It's really depressing, that I am disliked by my own kind. I'm not surprised, because not even my own relatives like me all that much either. Maybe I'm destined to be white.

The asians in the school are quite the mystery. They all look the same. They all wear the same clothes. Especially the girls. They look like those japanese j-pop trendy stars. They all wear those Ugg boots with their little flared jeans. They all wear those fuzzy trimmed jackets. They all wear those scarves indoors. They all dye their hair brown. They are all SHORT. The dudes are of average height, but still don't measure up to my humungo stature. Except for Steven, but he's on his own wigger league. They never talk to anyone but their own kind, and even to them they're very quiet. Are they shy? Probably, but at least show some goddamn respect and at least acknowledge the other people that are around you. Come on, is it that hard to say "It's okay" after someone says to you that they are sorry? And instead, give that person a rude look? I don't get why they only talk to them and not to me, the other lonely stranger of their ethnicity. Because I happen to be the total opposite in many ways. Oh well, fuck that. I'm always willing to make new friends, but I don't think these kids are going to be one of them.

Respect is the one thing that this world needs more of. Fucking shit, this entry was supposed to be a shitload longer. But you know what? My computer fucks itself and I lost the entire thing, having to restart this piece of shit twice before being able to type what I can remember of it. I swear, it was the closest yet I was of pulling an Axl. What you've just read was only a portion of the original post. I wrote an entire paragraph, more like two, of insightful shit that a lot of people could learn from. And guess what, it fucking disappears. I am still extremely enraged and could still feel that nerve on my forehead pulsating like a raging vagina. I totally forgot every single fucking thing about what I said about manners, respect, and respecting others. I felt that this one was going to be an award winner. But it's gone. Thanks to adware that fucks up my computer. Well that sucks for you, that sucks for me, that really sucks for me, that we cannot read what the fucking hell I typed. I even print screened the goddamn screen when it froze, but noooo, I had to restart and lost it.

Fuck this, I've had enough. My mood was originally excited, about what I don't know because it's fucking close to Christmas.



Friday, December 17
I was actually thinking of skipping today's entry. And no, your panties aren't twisting. You too, boys.

Another blonde hair was found on my shirt right when was hanging my coat up after arriving home. This time it was a long strand. God, they're attacking me with their Rapunzel pubes.

So today was a B day? It was oddly a good day for a B day. I've come upon a theory as of why a lot of people don't like to update. They've got lives and therefore are happier than others. Unlike losers like me who constantly are on these journal things all day, and moping around typing negative bullshit. Lately I've been having really unusual good days and have been slacking off of my usual long as fuck entries. Like I'm trying to write some bible of some sort.

The pep rally at the end of the day was, surprise surprise, dumb. Waste of everybody's fucking time (surprise surprise). So was reporting back to homeroom before that (surprise surprise!). I stole these awesome mouseballs off of some computers just to find that people have already drawn happy faces on them. They probably didn't steal them because they actually needed them for their work, which I'm surprised they would actually do (some, probably not all). But oh well, now they can't do shit because I amputated their rodent testicles.

I am considering getting a new screen name. A bunch of these fucktards keep IMing me and I really don't want to talk to them, no matter how many screen names they have. Like this one fuck, he has made about twenty, if not more, screen names already. And every time he IMs me with each new one, he asks why I blocked his other screen name. Fucking loser. He's fucking perverted and talks about nothing but his shitful homophobia, racism, boring school shit, and girls' tits.

Then there's the people that I vowed never to speak or to hear from again, whom I swore I left long ago in middle school. They keep coming back. They left me first, and now they're trying to get me back? Fuck off.

But I like my current one, it's of my favorite song and of my favorite video featuring my favorite hat. Who the fuck wouldn't want an energy dome? Maybe it should be something like, FUCK THE COCK. No, that's dumb. I don't know. This is going to take a while. Considering AOL blocked all of my other user names.

French class went fairly well. Someone brought in brownies and despite I got one of the leftover store brought/non homebaked ones, it was still cool.

There was sub in history. Naptime!

Not that every other class isn't naptime, but when there is a sub there is guaranteed peaceful slumber.

Drivers' ed went fast. Because we only read a short portion of shit from the state driving manual and then watched this really sad movie with burnt people in cars. But I'm a shitful, blackhearted bitch so I was untouched.

Lunch was peachy. I look forward to it every day. Because that's the time I get to talk to people that I would like to talk to, and can tell everyone else to fuck the hell off all I want. Even if I barely have any close friends, it doesn't fucking matter. It's better to have at least two, or one, close friend whom you can trust than a million who fuck you up the ass just for the pleasure. Well, who wouldn't fuck someone up the ass just for pleasure? But seriously, it's better to have a few that truly love you rather than a trillion who don't.

Literature, I had some pretty good laughs. Laughing at the whores and finally, finally, and I fucking mean fucking finally, The Crucible is starting to get interesting. There's only one act left. That's how crappy it is.

I'm going to give Lauren her Christmas gift on Monday. I don't think she's going to like it. Because I fucking goddamn well know she's going to like it. It's nothing original, it's candles. Playboy candles. Helllll yeah. Yeah yeah, still not original, but I know she'll love it anyway. Now I'm starting to feel really bad I didn't try harder to earn more money throughout the year so I could buy more yule presents. And I'm starting to not thing that the only reason I bought her a gift was because she's expecting one. I can just feel my heart getting bigger and bigger. Oh man, how sappy was that?

Hey kids, get ready for this:

I'm not really broke. I have a fifty dollar bill hidden somewhere that I promised to myself that I would only use in super emergency situations. Such as seeing Velvet Revolver or some shit like that. Maybe I should really spend it after all on presents for folks that I care about. Because most likely nothing will come and the fifty will never be put to use. I've always wanted to get my mom something incredibly awesome, for all the bullshit I've done and how much of that bullshit (all of it actually) that she's put up with. Maybe even the sibling, because she doesn't bullshit me even after all the bullshit I've dumped on her. My pop pop too, maybe a giant cork for that gas valve on his behind.

There's probably like two more folks I'd like to get something for, but I can't promise that I'll actually spend this last piece of green shit paper with a giant 50 on it. Yes, yes, bring on the complaints and bitching about how much of an asshole I am.

It's funny watching people not understanding each other because of their lack of knowledge of english. After school Eric and I were at Burger King waiting for his turn and the dude before us on line was trying to order something to the latino lady at the register and she looked so fucking confused it was, to say the least, funny.

Oh man, there was fried shrimp and soft-shelled crabs for dinner with some yummy salad. That's fucking right, yummy salad. Because all I eat is the tomatoes.

This post was so not funny or entertaining to read. I'm sorry. I've turned into a fucking pansy. Give me more time at home with nothing to do and a few more bad days and I'll have a Jerry Seinfeld worthy entry for you.

Updated my profile a while ago if you'd like to check that out. Complete with a picture of yours truly. This was pretty useless to say, but what you know me, loves to take up time and space as much as Axl admires his nipple piercings.



Thursday, December 16

Would anyone want to bang you? by phobia
Name:
Favorite Food:
Wants to Bang you:
This many times:	49
Quiz created with MemeGen!

What the fuck?




Mailed some cards this morning, got three more to do.

Today was excellent, I'd have to say. People on my A days are much more kindly to others. Including me of course, then why the fuck would I be saying that.

Eva won the title of America's Next Top Model last night. Goddamn fucking bitch. She is indeed a great model, but one of the shittiest people. Yaya was cooler. I originally wanted Amanda, even if she is some crazy looking albino, to win. But instead got kicked out as third place.

So this thing with Karla still isn't settled. Lauren and I have officially stamped her with the wannabe cowprod. Lauren is assuming Karla hates her because Lauren hates Laura, and Laura could've told shit about Lauren. That's an assumption, we still don't know why. Tiffany has told Lauren that Karla likes to ditch people in order to increase her popularity; another theory. Since Laura and Lauren seem to hate each other, I don't know why Laura is still friends with me, even though she knows I'm close friends with Lauren. Maybe she secretly dislikes me, or genuinely is still my chum. And I'm surprised she doesn't talk shit about me, for we've known each other for a long time and I've done a lot of shitty things in the past. Not to mention was a shitty loser too.

I'm just fine with Karla, she can do whatever she wants. I don't care. And to tell you the truth, I don't hate her at all. She was a great person but I guess she has some habits to get rid of. Who gives a damn, I'll move on.

Alright, enough with gossip and shit like that.

Why the fuck do I keep finding blonde hairs on my clothes? I don't think I hang out with any blondies, or maybe it's just that my eyes are fucked up and mistook them as brunettes. I've got enough of my own hair molting from my head and sticking on my clothing, and now it's some unknown straw coming from out of nowhere. Maybe I'm being groped by some blonde and I don't even know it. Because the strands aren't long. They say blondes are dumb, but in this case blackheads are the dumbfucks, for this blackhead doesn't even know if she's some hair magnet or rapist magnet or what.

Blackhead not as in the kind of zit, but the kind of hair. Just want to make that fucking clear for you slow ones.



Wednesday, December 15
Alright so I'm trying to set a record for how many consecutive days I can post, despite my rush of trying to take a fucking shower, put all of my clothes away, and mail these Christmas cards.

I hate the fact that I had no pants to wear today so I wore a green sweater with red pants. Get the fucking idea, dipshit.

The fucking french teacher yelled at me for not pledging to the goddamn flag.

Nevermind what I said last year about the school's shitty breakfast burgers. They're good. Or maybe it's just the one that I ate last year that was shitty all by itself. Who knows.

Went to Shop Rite after school to buy more Christmas cards. I soon found myself in the liquor store, but seeming that I was carrying a backpack, I wouldn't pull it off. They didn't have beef jerky either. So I went right home and gave the extra two dollars back to my mom. So now I am definitely down to nothing.

My dad came home with these heart-shaped stress balls from work. They're the size and hardness of cold testicles. They're awesome.

I also just deleted and blocked a bunch of fucktards on my AIM buddy list. Some people just irritate the fuck out of me. It had to be done. If you still see me online, that means I didn't block you.



Tuesday, December 14
My mom is taking me to the mall tonight to go buy Christmas shit. With only eight fucking dollars. So I guess everyone's going to get a card. If I try to exchange my ten pound piggy bank with her, she gets fucking pissed for some reason. I'm going to have to make some cards, for I'm trying to get at least two people gifts. This sucks balls. Just like Axl. I promised to myself that I wouldn't anybody anything this year. And look how the promise is going. But then again, I did say and prove that I never keep my promises either. I'd been saving up for about two months just to get that Izzy Stradlin CD, and now this hope is going down the drain. Down the drain to join your nasty diarrhea from lunch this afternoon. I didn't even fucking earn enough the get the damn thing, and now I'm going to be back to zero. Oh well, the point of gift giving is the fulfillment you'll feel inside. So I guess I'm going to do my best.

Most of the "presents" are going to be mailed away to distant people anyway. The majority of fucks here don't really give a damn about a dumb shit like Christina. Actually, the only person I'm buying a gift for here is Lauren. She's expecting one. So I have to. I originally intended not getting her anything, but today she brought it up. So I'm fucked. I guess she does really deserve it, because she's getting me a Guns n' Roses DVD and a Nirvana poster.

She also said that we are definitely more than likely to go see Motley Crue in March. That's fucking awesome.

Oh guess what. I did not watch Velvet Revolver nor The Hives last night. Slept through both of the damn things. And I was still tired in the morning. TIVO would be really helpful for me. Fuck you and your money and your TIVO and your cars and your million CD's and posters covering your walls like cheap (but sexy) wallpaper.

Today was good, I'd have to say. Even though my favorite sweater shrunk in the dryer and it keeps riding up my back and doesn't cover enough of my hands to keep me warm. Fucking dryers, they should invent kinds that don't fuck up your clothing. If it was hung, the sweater would've been stretched. But my mom was being a cunt and didn't want to just leave it on a table to dry.

In chemistry the teacher kept bothering me. And I still have no fucking idea how to do any conversions. Well in my fucking book of bullshit, math is taught in math class and science is taught in science class. Wow, that was dumb. Because in chemistry you need to measure all the shit that's as small as Lars Ulrich's dick. I heard it's so small, that when you're sucking it you can't tell the difference if you're smoking a joint. Maybe it's the wrong dude. But I'm not surprised if it's Lars.

Desktop publishing was boring cow shit. We're working on a project with the person sitting next to us, and I feel sorry for my partner for I was supposed to be giving her directions and instead was just bullshitting around with the folks sitting behind me and watching them stick tape in her hair and snickering afterwards.

So I learned that my ornament won a prize. While working on some more shit with Katrina in geometry in the back of the classroom, I found all the nominated ornaments, and the winning ones had these blue papers stapled to them. Mine had a blue paper stapled to it. Duh, if you didn't get that you might as well suffocate by shoving your head into Axl's waist.

I finished sculpting my dog thing in art class. Now I'll just have to find some hot pink spray paint.

No editing for this post, because I got some shit to do.



Monday, December 13
Holy fucking shit, I almost pulled an Axl at the dinner table. Something is seriously wrong with me. My temper has been going crazy for the past month or so. Ah, the privileges of hormones. Or whatever the fuck is going on. My dad kept dumping all this bullshit on me and complained about how much water I drink. I drink like a fucking lunatic, just imagine Slash and Black Death Vodka. And how when he was a kid back in the old country, while eating he wasn't allowed to drink at all until after he was finished, and if he did, his father would smack him in the fucking face. While I am the total opposite. I chew, swallow, drink, chew, swallow, drink. Throughout my entire meal. Sometimes even swallow and drink at the same time. Well I can't fucking help it. For some weird reason I get thirsty real easily when eating. But if I forget about it the thirst goes away. But at home water is so easy to attain, so I can't fucking help myself.

He kept saying all this shit like, "What's wrong with you?" "Why do you do that?" with this fucking nasty sneer in his face. My folks have this fucking shitful habit of always asking what's wrong with me. Hey, it's their genes that mutated into a piece of shit that is me. Meanwhile, I was about to spit out my food and yell some obscene remark back at him. How extremely unusual, for in my entire life I have never lashed out at anybody at all. Or being as close to lashing out as I came to just a half hour ago. Just over a stupid thing like that. Perhaps I should get anger management classes before something happens. I felt my blood boiling, it was not a good feeling. I could just imagine my head turning red and smoke building up inside just waiting to burst. This is not funny, I don't like this. If I were to really pull an Axl, I would officially become a fucking hothead and oh god, the love handles. But at least I'll be hot as fucking hell in my twenties. But I wouldn't want to lose an Izzy Stradlin. Definitely not.

Maybe it's the fact that I tend to listen to Judas Priest and Guns n' Roses in bed right before going to sleep. Probably not, I'm just making up shitty excuses. When you're living with me, you better have a lot of drinking water around or else I go fucking nuts. And I hate eating in front of people. They can see my horrible table manners and my annoying habit of getting up and down to wherever the water is to refill my cup. Or glass, for that matter. Cups aren't enough. When I'm eating I get food all over the place - stuck on my clothes, stuck on my face, stuck on the table, dropping and spilling drinks and food everywhere. It's disgusting. All in the sake of being a bum.

I'm a real slow eater too. I like to casually eat while I do something else. Unlike others who eat like in the army and not even enjoy their food.

All this seeming to be more and more like Axl, is extremely ironic. The more I make fun of someone, the more I relate to them. Oh fucking Jimmy Page, I've been starting to diss Vince Neil a whole lot too. Please, don't let me become a chicken mcnugget.

So, my day went pretty swell. Lauren was absent though, so I don't know how the progress of getting those Motley Crue tickets is going. But, Bad Haircut is playing on January 15th. I swear, that is a 100% promise that I am going. If I don't, shoot me up the ass so I can't sit in this chair and type pathetic shit like this post for the rest of my fucking life.

The Hives and Velvet Revolver are going to be on some late night shows tonight. Fucking shit, I'm going to be too tired to tune in. Oh well, I'll try to do my best.

Michael Monroe is one hell of an ugly motherfucker. As much as I'm starting to really love Hanoi Rocks, some of their songs really do suck ass. I'm also starting to really get into Deep Purple, which is way much fucking more than "Smoke on the Water."

I have also come to the conclusion that Aerosmith makes the greatest driving music. Although I don't drive, I can always pretend with a makeshift cardboard wheel placed on this desk right in front of the computer, so I can type pathetic shit and pretend to drive at the same time.




Sunday, December 12
I ran out of Haagen Dazs creme brulee ice cream. But alas, there are still five more bottles of limonata.

So my dad collapsed on the table last night from drinking. At 9:30. That's pretty fucking early. It's either he drank too much, or is a fucking pansy. He drank too much. My mom said he collapsed right in front of his friend. How pathetic.

He also cooked an oven mitt. Turns out while putting a pot of clams onto the water containing part of the steaming pot, the mitt was stuck on the bottom of the pot he was going to put on and he cooks the mitt. My mom couldn't find it until this morning while washing the dishes. How delicious, fabric essenced seafood. Fiber and calcium all in one.

My mom is making send Christmas cards. Because I am a big girl now and it is my responsibility to keep relationships between long-distance relatives - related and non-related. God fucking dammit, and she's making me pay for the cards. I was eventually going to plan on doing this myself, but she beat me to it for pushing me in the right direction. Also known as making me actually do it. I can never have the will to do anything on my own. I want to send each person something else besides a phoney piece of $2 recycled toilet paper, but I'll be completely dead broke from buying the cards alone. I saved up about eleven dollars total in five months, it's going to be gone. No books. No DVD's. No Izzy CD's. No t-shirts. Because I supposedly am supposed to love people. Maybe I should just make the cards. It's more personal and creative that way.

She's making me mail one to my grandparents in California. I was thinking of writing ANTHRAX all over the envelope, but maybe I should save that idea for someone else. For my grandfather is not the kindest of spirits and my grandmother likes to gossip on the phone like a bitch.

I know I've posted an entry before saying how fuzzy I was feeling, but today I've gone back to the usual mood of negative shitheaded asshole mode. Probably because I just ate all of my ice cream. Ice cream is very important to me, it's like sex. But nothing's inserted up my twat and sex is supposed to be hot. Alright, that was a bad analogy.

At least sending the cards will reward me with love.

I hope. Or else I'm going to regret not nagging my mom for the money.

I may sound cheap, but I have to be, for my budget is as small as the fraction of Axl's mind that is not egotistical.

She also asked me what I wanted for Christmas from her and my dad. I said I didn't know, and here was my actual answer in actual quotes:

"I don't know, I want a lot of things, but now I'll have to pick one that I want the most."

And this is what I said in my head that wasn't said with my vocal chords:

"What do I want is the most expensive?"

Yes, I am quite the asshole.

I really don't want to go to school tomorrow. I get more scared every day. More like every B day. Every person in every class dislikes me. I couldn't really give a fuck if everyone around me likes me or not, but it still makes the classes shittier than ever. It really fucking annoys me just watching everyone's stupidity day after day after day, their fragile dipshit minds never changing at all. Still being as narrow as the first day I knew them. Reminds me of the middle ages. People's minds never changed. They just stayed stupid like that for a thousand plus years or so. Fucking dumb shits, I'm fucking sick of them. Even in the advanced history class, no one has any fucking common sense. And to think these people are going to be running our country in the future. Much less driving a car, which probably common sense is more important in for the time being.

The sibling's TV habits have really been paining my ass for the past week. She turns that fucking thing on so fucking loud, I could still hear it through blasting shit like Judas Priest. I can hear every fucking word that's being said. I've even memorized practically every goddamn commercial that comes on Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, and The Disney Channel. I've even memorized their promotional segment commercials. That's not fucking fair, for I could barely remember any lyrics in the music that I listen to. This shit is really getting up my grill.

I like saying "getting up my grill" because it sounds funny. My parents complain my music is too loud, and yet I could hear the fucking sibling's piece of shit television all the way from the dining room and you could only hear my music in the hallway. I'm clenching my fist right now in painful agony, even after turning the volume higher. The fucking Disney Channel is still heard. I'm on the brink of pulling an Axl. Stomping my feet into that Jimmy Page forsaken bedroom and yelling my ass off to turn that fucking volume lower so I don't lose my sanity. Which I have barely of any left.

If I close my door, eventually one of the folks will come in and ask, "What the hell are you doing? Why is your door closed? Are you looking at porn on the internet again?"

My nose is fucking up, I feel a nosebleed coming on. I love the figure of speech that Uma Thurman used in Pulp Fiction, where she said to John Travolta, "Now, I'm gonna go to the bathroom and powder my nose."

Jeannie came over earlier today to copy some stuff for her humanities presentation. We talked and stuff and the mother planned a trip to Philadelphia during holiday break.





You are Axl Rose's groupie.


What rockstar's groupie are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


PUSSY LOVING PUSSY, HOW IRONIC. XD



Saturday, December 11
Last night I had a dream that some asshole stole my sunglasses. It seriously scared the fuck out of me. Being that my signature look is dead without them.

Last night I was also planning on watching Motley Crue on Jimmy Kimmel Live. But I was so fucking tired, and I mean fucking exhausted, from what I don't know, and fell asleep before the Crue came on. If the rest of the show hadn't been so goddamn boring, I probably would've been able to stay awake to watch the performance. But nooooo, Jimmy bored the fuck out of Christina and lulled Christina to sleep, missing Tommy Lee's hot sex and Vince Neil's hot and spicy chicken mcnugget outfit. Oh excuse me, Vince doesn't wear a costume.




The sibling is watching All That in her own fucking room with the volume turned up real fucking loud. Avril Lavigne is the musical guest. I literally squeezed my head and cringed my ugly fucking face in agony.

All day I have been watching the America's Next Top Model marathon. It totally lowered my self confidence and inspired me to whiten my teeth and get rid of my acne. Fix them for good. And getting more calcium. I must grow. Yes, I am very shallow-minded and as I continue to watch this goddamn marathon all the way to its very end I will officially become depressed and OmG sO GoTh!

Holy shit, my stomach churned just typing that. But improving my image to the naked eye with the start of eating ice cream and mashed potatoes while drinking is quite hypocritical.

The orthodontist was cool. One of his aides gave me this totally kick ass new retainer box which she bribed me into accepting because it just looked so fucking awesome.



Turquoise with blue and white and green splattered all over it, can't get any sexier than that. They keep giving me new boxes every time I go, which by now adds up to about ten. None of which looked as sexalicious as this new one. Even if I never use them, they keep on giving me more and more. I only wear my retainers when I go to bed, and during the day they're soaking in dencher cleaner in a cup in the bathroom. Yes, dencher cleaner. Retainers in dencher cleaner. Makes perfect sense. Get with the program, dipshit.

Then we went to MacDonald's to get some breakfast and headed down to Jeannie's house in Wharton. Wharton is one hell of a scary looking place. Well, in my pussyful opinion. The clouds didn't completely clear yet and the ground was still wet, everything was pretty dark and dim and nasty. In addition to all the wiggers and latino fucks who live there in their cheap duplexes who can't even fucking afford a house, because they spent it on that forty year old busted Cadillac that can't even open the hood without droppingtheir nasty fat asses on it first with a nice butt flop.

But Jeannie's no latino fuck. Because she is asian and she is related to me. Because you know, I am so anti-ghetto in da hood. We have no gangsta DNA wangstas in our blood.

My mom said when I smile I have that Jack Nicholson smile. Exactly like when he was the Joker in the Batman movie. That is in no fucking way a compliment. She says this in front of everyone and everyone starts laughing. Including me, which just displays that horrible demonic arch in my face.

After our little breakfast soiree, we went to the big ass Shop Rite in Wharton. Oh man, I had so much fun grocery shopping for what had been almost a year since the last time. Call me a crazy fuck, but that indeed is what I am. Good thing there were no hot guys there, for I really needed a shower and tied my hair up, which is done for only, only two occasions. Those being 1.) at home where I have to do work and shit, and 2.) whenever I haven't bathed efficiently the day before. I feel sorry for my orthodontist, bending over my head so closely like that. There were nothing but old soccer moms who were a foot shorter than me with big saggy fat asses that quadruple the size of my flat pancakes and old men who were a foot taller than me with gray hair which I frequently mistaken for big saggy fat cats.

Just being in the presence of so much food makes me ecstatic. Brownies, cheese puffs, lasagna, soda, beer, cupcakes, beef jerky, bacon, oh man it's all there. And shopping carts are fucking awesome. They're the perfect size for smashing young children who walk up to you and call you ugly. Plus, if you got enough food in it, you could feel their bones being crushed and their flesh being stretched into tire-cracked waffle-like rubber soles.

Got home and then started the confidence killer marathon afore mentioned.

The sibling learned how to whistle. She does it in the car. It is extremely irritating.

My folks' friend is over to help install marble flooring. He's doing nothing and is in the basement singing karaoke and drinking Heineken and eating shrimp cooked in a twenty dollar skillet purchased from JC Penney.



Friday, December 10

You are "Stairway To Heaven." You are a
very loving individual. You may be deeply in
love with a special someone, or you just have a
loving and caring nature. Love is the most
important thing to you. You would do everything
you could to keep it from dying.


Which Led Zeppelin Song Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla




How the fuck does Deep Purple come up with the greatest fucking riffs? Not to mention drumming. Not only does Ritchie Blackmore kick ass, the drummer does too. But I'm a dumb fuck and I don't know the drummer's name.

I was watching My Coolest Years: The Metalheads. Hilarious shit. Then my mom made me go clean the goddamn kitchen. Inside and outside every cabinet. Damn right I got angry. But I did not pull an Axl.

Today I got my first holiday gift. It was a Velvet Revolver bracelet that Isabelle sent. Very awesome, I love it. The card that came with it read,

I tried packing Izzy Stradlin in this envelope but I had some trouble. :(

It made my day anyway.

Well, the rest of the day was pretty peachy though. Failed a few quizzes, ate chinese food, pissed off a few people, saw a few people get pissed off, it was all good.

The only Beach Boys song I ever like and ever will like is "Wouldn't it Be Nice." It's perfect for frolicking in flowerfields holding hands with any old fucker that would want to frolick like a pussy in a flowerfield with a little fucker like me.

Lauren said that she would most likely be able to get us those Motley Crue tickets for March 3rd. I am extremely excited.

The thing about Motley Crue is, they were the first '80s band I ever liked, but shied away from my shallow fandom and kept my fucking mouth shut because at that time a lot of assholes around me were saying shit about them and how much of a horrible shitty metal band they were and had no substance at all, comparing them to the likes of, Poison. So in conclusion, I was a fucking pussy and didn't stand up for them. Or me. The first time I was ever exposed to the Crue was watching some documentary, I think 20 Years of Rock on MTV or some crap like that, or maybe it was just some special day on the network, and they played "Dr. Feelgood." I got hooked. And to be completely honest for once, with the stupidity of my youthful young age then, didn't know shit about '80s music and even back then, saw some stuff from Poison and thought that Poison sucked. I'm proud of msyelf.

But one thing that I really, really fucking regret was this: When I was around ten years old or so I made a list of all crappy artists that I hated with a deep passion.

Led Zeppelin was on that list. I hated Led Zeppelin. I thought that Robert Plant's voice was like a cat tap dancing on a chalkboard while getting a blowjob from Nikki Sixx.

I hadn't eaten the entire day until the party in art class. I invited Eric to come, thank Jimmy Page I had to enjoy that latino music bullshit for another hour and half without some kind of decent person's voice to comprehend rather than Ricky Ricardo wannabes who wear burlap bags that hang from those police horses' asses in New York City. Because you know, they just shit so much, they have to keep it somewhere without having to go to the bathroom and leave their mark every hour or so.

He also helped me work on my dog thing and I think I'm starting to like it. Maybe, because that thing looks like sculpted mashed potatoes on a cold hour-old dinner plate that a five year old cunt won't eat because the peas were touching them. It still needs teeth and an eye though. Eye because you're only seeing it from the side, you dumb shit.

Drove me home also, with another girl joining. Hm, I forgot her name. I tend to forget a lot of people's names along with a lot of other things, but that's because I'm a horrible inconsiderate dipshit. Actually, I don't think I even heard her name.

I also forgot my other new friend's name which I mentioned a while ago. Still can't remember.

Wearing black pants is annoying. So much dust gets stuck to it. And it's the worst when you're sitting on the floor for a long time. After hundreds of stupid losers have already stepped on the floor.

Sometimes spoons are just really fucking pointless when you're eating soup that doesn't require chewing. As a matter of fact, they are always pointless when you're eating soup that doesn't require chewing. Unless you're some kind of dumbass who likes proper etiquette and table manners. Well fuck you, I eat like a slob and I don't need no fucking utensil. Sometimes I get rice on my shirt and not even feel like getting it off, so it's just left there to dry and harden, being stuck on the shirt until it goes into the laundry. Which is not until about five days later.

However, toothpaste is not a fun stain to have on your clothing. Rice is fun to pick off, but toothpaste, you can't pick it off because it's a fucking cream that absorbs into your fucking shirt, making a white stain that looks like you creamed yourself while being in the bathroom with the month's issue of Classic Rock. Not Playgirl, because those dudes are just so goddamn beefy and chunky, and I cannot jerk off to Fabio. Seriously, he is no jerk-off subject. Especially hearing that he used to date a transexual and killed a goose that collided into his face while riding on a rollercoaster.

I have a fucking orthodontist tomorrow morning at 9:30 or something. That really fucking sucks.

My mom made me clean the cabinets with Pledge Dry Wipes, Orange Scented. The oil rubbed on my hands and now they smell like oranges. Which is cool though. Because every time I sneeze and cover my face I reward my courteous getting-rid-of-the-dust-in-my nose with a nice whiff of Florida citrus scent.




Thursday, December 9


I'm surprised Pussy Mound didn't slide across the piano with a giant body flop, sending jiggles flopping so fast that he'll look like a giant jamaican hummingbird, rippling all through his flabs like the japanese coast during a 940.96 Richter score earthquake. And as for Dizzy, that ugly redneck motherfucker deserves a bulldozer colliding into his face. Maybe the blubber will fill in those southern hick wrinkles that carved in the ugliness of his face in the first place.




Today was shitty. I knew it would be shitty. Just didn't know the happy streak was going to end so soon. They say life is unpredictable. Unpredictable, my ass.

So in drivers' ed this stupid latino fuck son of a bitch was really gettin' up my grill. His assigned seat is behind me, and he never shuts the fuck up. Never shuts the fuck up as in is constantly shaking my fucking chair with his fucking foot and tapping his pen on his fucking desk at the edge right behind my fucking fat head. It was excruciatingly uncomfortable, like a bad hump. Seriously, that's a sexual innuendo that does not turn me on at all. As a matter of fact, it turns me so fucking off that I didn't even think of masturbation or Izzy Stradlin all day after that.

There's so many of those smelly fucks everywhere. They stand in the middle of the hallway spreading their horrible cologne odors into my couture and spanking their stupid ho bitches' asses which are covered in plastic acid wash. They stand in the middle of the fucking aisles, not letting any, even stick skinny fuckers, to get to their seats. And they say the fucking stupidest shit and bring up the most pointless arguments with the teacher that are almost as pointless as trying to pursuade to me that Gwar is the greatest band in history and write better music than a Led Zeppelin and Rolling Stones mutant.

Very ironically, as much as I make fun of Axl, I think I'm starting to grow a temper. I can just imagine myself in the future mooning some fucker with my bare ass just for cutting me off in the hallway or some shit like that. I felt like turning around and suckerpunching the stupid fuck sitting behind me in drivers' ed. I even imagined blood spurting out of his eye socket and nose, his cheekbone breaking and bending inward into his ugly fucking face, his jawbone dislocating and flying across the aisle, ripping through his other cheek. His teeth jamming into his trachea, suffocating him so he's squeezing his neck gasping for breath and falling to the floor and landing on his elbow, breaking that piece of shit too and the bone sticking out of his fucking ugly ass shit smelling cologne covered arm.

The last time I had a hissyfit was in seventh grade, when all of these supposed friends of mine were singing stupid fuck oompa loompa songs on a humid, hot, wet, cold, exhausted bus ride going home from some museum, who would never shut the fuck up no matter how much I bitched and how tired I was. I didn't hit anyone, but I started yelling and well you know, being angry. They never listened. They have no compassion whatsoever. I'm very glad I have lost touch with those dumb shits.

I listened to Nirvana this morning. It was fucking awesome. Haven't listened to them in ages. My old friends used to complain that all I listened to was Nirvana. What the fuck, it was nothing near an obsession. Considering that I don't [and didn't] know shit about them and only owned one album. And that album is the greatest hits.

There was a Pantera massacre. That's fucking bullshit.

There was a firedrill in first block. I didn't know where the hell my class was supposed to go so I just ditched them and went wherever the fuck I wanted and met Amanda. We didn't say much, because we didn't have much to say. And to this minute I still have no idea where the class was supposed to meet outside.

Surprisingly, no matter how much I bullshit in history, I manage to excel. I read fifty, if not less, pages of an over three-hundred page book and got a 99% on the major book review that was assigned with over two months to do and only wrote it in one night. 1% taken off due to a few grammatical and mechanical errors.

We're reading The Crucible in literature class. And my fucking god, is it boring. I had to work with this slut on a paper and she was being so bitchy. Not for something I did, but her ex or whoever the hell he was. It was annoying. Like I could give a fuck about people dying for false accusations of warty noses and green asses. Like I ever gave a fuck about anything.

Karla is still not talking to me. Nor is she talking to Lauren. Beats me why. And to tell you the truth, I'm just fine with that. As long as she's happy and doing well I'm not going to accuse any shit on her. If she doesn't like me or something, whatever, so be it. I'll live on. I'll find new friends. Or just friend. Or no friend, for that matter. People will be people, it's the way they are, and I can't change it. Humanity and human nature is always something that fascinates me, and I've come to peace with some things that other people still complain the fucking hell out of and they don't even recognize that they can't do shit about what they're complaining about.

Every time I listen to "1979" by The Smashing Pumpkins, I feel like sitting in the back of a car and contemplating. And perhaps shave my head.

I'm starting to really like Slander. Besides its difficulty to comprehend, it's ruthless and well, yeah I enjoy it. I didn't expect myself to actually get into these type of books. The type about politics and Matt Lauer. Two things that I hate very much.

Motley Crue is playing at Madison Square Garden on March 3rd. I MUST ask Lauren to get us box seats. Oh man, maybe even the platinum package for $400 each. Gotta meet the band, man.

Or maybe not.

But I can dream on. Dream on about Tommy Lee's dick.




Wednesday, December 8
Hm, I got so many Tommy and Axl icons I don't know if I'll ever get to use all of them.

Something that bothers me is that the distance between Mick Mars' eyes is the same width as Axl's flabs.

The computer just froze for fifteen minutes and I forgot what to say.

Except that I swear that I will finish those personalized entries for the LiveJournal kids.




So I had a great day. For some Jimmy Pageful reason I have never been in this great a mood for so fucking long. I love my friends. I love my family. I love my ass. I love Gwar!

JUST KIDDING YOU FUCKING CUNT.

About the Gwar part, that is. I love you online folks too. Oh man I feel like Jesus, I love everyone. I feel so sensational, I feel my heart has practically quadrupled its size, like the Grinch. Except that I have genitals and I have smooth skin. I need to do something about this. I want to bake my friends cookies with little snowmen and Christmas trees on them. I want to buy them presents and wrap each one in shiny red or green or gold paper with a gorgeous velvet gold trimmed red ribbon tied around it. I want to find everyone I love and give them a big old Yogi hug and a smooch. And if they happen to be a good looking member of the male sex, I will be hoping for more than that.

Oh Jimmy Page, I'm turning into a fucking pansy. But of course, being dowsed with the Al Bundy curse, I am terrified of something horrible happening, ending this psychological disorder of glee. Hopefully it will be after the holidays.

Last night at 12:30 I got on a sugar high from Hershey kisses while working on the ornament and felt like going speed shopping at Shop Rite. Took me an hour after lying down to finally get tired.

The ornament got elected for an award. I wonder if I'll win. And I wonder if I'll win something good. Like Izzy Stradlin.

Jeannie called ten minutes after I got home, needing my mom to drive her home for there's something with her home phone and couldn't reach her mom. When I asked my mom what happened, she said it was something about buying flowers. Whatever, I don't like flowers anyway. Flowered trees make me sneeze like a pussy.

It has been confirmed that I can invite someone with me for the chinese food thing in art class on Friday. So now I need to find someone, still. Maybe I'll be a desperate fucker and actually go around asking. I don't need anymore headaches from those latino dumbfucks and someone to talk to for once instead of spending another hour and a half in silence with my own boring, shitful self-company.



Tuesday, December 7

This is my friend. I named him Boy George




I have nothing to say, and they say that a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, there are going to be several thousand words. Words of wisdom and bullshit.





We have to design and make a Christmas tree ornament for geometry class. This is mine. Very unoriginal. But it's chocolate so I stuck with this idea.


Tasty residue from the bag of Hershey kisses that I will eat. Shut the fuck up my medical diet never existed.


Can you believe I got a fucking 95% on this in an advanced history class? And that's a fucking horse, not a piece of atomic shit that is going to explode out of Axl's ass from this here picture:




One of the swastikas on Ann's forehead could be seen here. It would be cool if the person fucked it up and didn't draw it on crookedly, for if it weren't it would be the buddha symbol. Buddha Coulter shall I say.


Pants on the bed. Yes I am kinky for I have leopard print blankets.

"It often happens that I wake up at night and begin to think about a serious problem and decide I must tell the Pope about it. Then I wake up completely and remember that I am the Pope."

- Pope John XXIII



My favorite thing to do during my spare time is skinning my neighbors' pet pomeranians and trading their fur to crack dealers in Newark.




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