Wednesday, March 2
I never get accepted into any rating communities. I don't know why. Well someone invited me to try out for one, so I did. It seemed like a cool place, so yeah of course I tried out. Maybe Gwar is casting this horrible shadow on me. Maybe I should lighten up on them.

No, never will I do that, you fucking tard.

Come to think of it, I never get accepted into anything. What's wrong with me? Don't ask me, I find myself pretty fucking decent enough to not be considered as a Poison fan. I mean, am I too different or am I too full of shit? It's either one of those, I know. Or maybe I'm not "intellectual" enough about music? Like I give a fuck about how smart I have to be to fit into someone's specific mold.

Yeah, I'll confess that I'm not a super musical encyclopedia and that I only touch on a few bands here and there in every type of genre. Seriously, you cannot expect me to know every single band and era of a certain genre. Mainly because I love all sorts of music. And if I can't get into let's say, a classic rock rating community, well then so be it. Fuck that, I'll just judge myself, right here, in my own journal. If I'm not good enough for them, whatever. Like I always say, I got my Axl jokes to keep me company.

It's obvious I like to learn about a lot of this shit, yeah I talk about it non-stop like diarrhea flowing out of Montel Williams' ass, another reason is because a lot of friends talk to me about different bands and such, and being the not so mean as Axl the Fucking Pussy, I'll try to touch up on that too so I can relate to my buddy's interests.

I never win contests in school [that I was forced to enter by the dumbfuck teacher], nor did I win that fish picture coloring contest back when I was seven. But I did get accepted, by total random chance out of my knowledge at all, into this modelling convention at the Waldorf Astoria in New York a few years ago. I didn't go though, because they said I had to pay to get walking and posing lessons and all that bullshit, which my folks didn't want to pay for because it would take up their time to do who knows what the fuck. It came as a complete shock. This weird letter from some modelling agency who supposedly founded Marilyn Monroe mailed the invitation to me. I was such a fucking loser back then, me and my Korn and Limp Bizkit. And what surprises me even more, is how the fucking hell do they know about me?

I never got out of the house very often, which makes it even harder. Also being that no one I knew got one of those special invitations either. I felt like I was on top of the world as when it came to looks. But that was back then, I've worn out all my hotness by now probably. One example supporting that conclusion that I need some fucking ass, right now.

Yes, I used to like Korn and Limp Bizkit. A lot. I was so fucking obsessed. But I guess the lord was smart to separate my mind from them just like he did to Head, except that I dedicated my life to trying to get laid. Which is another thing I don't know why I never got.

When the fuck is my Jack Daniel's shirt coming? It's been nine days since I won it, and eight days that the postal service has been in service since I won it. It better fucking come.

So today was pretty good, the HSPA math test was complete bullshit. I didn't get a lot of it, because Christina doesn't care about math. Christina has a calculator and her smart mommy to do math for her. One open-ended question that I really couldn't understand, where you had to write down your work and shit, I wrote "SUCK IT" all over the fucking thing. Take that, you fucking test graders. Getting paid for reading cruel, yet beautiful sexual innuendoes. Or more like life-essential advice, is what it seems to me.

I think I did good on the chemistry test in chemistry class after that. Yes, I may have the feeling that I did everything right, but it's going to be that I actually had the right feeling that I got everything wrong. No biggie, I'm not going to be designing jap-killing bombs when I'm older. I've already discovered the Christina-killing bomb though. And that is a Gwar propaganda bomb.

No wait there's another one, it's my dad's ass after a big meal.

Blah blah blah go wank it on with a saw.

Oh man, so Motley Crue did close the NYSE at 4:00. Mick was in the center, directly behind the podium. He looked like a little boy between his ugly mom and dad named Vince Neil and Nikki Sixx. Nikki didn't look sick at all. That lying motherfucker. Or maybe he really was sick, and recovered fast enough because he "beat god at his game." Tommy is still fucking tall and skinny, just a little bit leathery and worn. Like a bicycle seat that's been sat on too many times by a dude who has a big penis. Vince hit the gavel on the floppy car wheel looking thing on the podium. It looked really dumb. No sound, no big bang, just that funny looking donut thing flopping around on the podium and Vince trying to hit it like he was playing Whack-A-Mole or something. It was kind of cute though, because I think that's the only game that Vince's mind is capable of comprehending and understanding the rules in.


Christina N. @ 5:54 PM