Tuesday, January 31
I was looking through my old Photobucket account, and happened to come across these old Photoshop creations that really just could've been done with Paint:

I need to make something like this for Fall Out Boy too.

That's M.J. right before he goes to bed [with a 5-year-old boy].

So the gynecologist wasn't so bad, because I was actually due for March. No pap smear today, motherfucker. Thank god. Goddamn that shit fucking hurts. Oh man, last year when I had one, while lying on the table, there was a sign on the ceiling that said, "STAY CALM." I laughed at it in my head at that moment; Yes, that uncomfortable and awkward moment as the cha cha was being operated on by a foreign object, and I still find it pretty damn funny right now.

So nothing happened during today's visit. I stayed in the waiting room the whole time and the doctor just wrote a Ladies' Only pill prescription for three more months' worth. The bad part was, my mom had an actual appointment so I felt sorry for her (yeah I actually fucking felt sorry). And I have to get poked around and shit in March.

While I was waiting for my mom, I found an issue of Parents magazine on a side table. The baby pictures and little baby clothes were all cute to look at, I admit. But whenever I think about getting knocked up and then having to care for the consequence that comes with it, I think of how the shittiest mother I would be. Because my ego is so huge and my head is way too high up there in my ass, my kid would either:

1. die within two days of labor
2. be taken away and raised by my mom because I'd still give two shits more about myself than my child
3. grow up to be Mick Jagger

Oh, and here's a darling little Paint creation:

Squeeeeze those rolls!

As I was rummaging through my bag in the waiting room looking for my phone, for somebody had called me, I found a piece of blonde hair stuck on a mitten. So I'm sitting there, holding a strand of blonde hair, and looking totally fucking puzzled because I'm too fucking asian and too fucking black-haired to possibly be growing patches of short blonde hair somewhere on my body. I have no idea whose it is; It sort of makes me wonder how much I molt and how much of my hair gets around and if someone by chance happens to be looking through their shit, finds an entire yard-long of black hair that most likely belongs to some illegal immigrant. Hey, at least it wasn't white hair. Because if it was white hair, then it was most likely some old person who'd been violating your property. Or maybe they were violating you when you're too fucking dumb to notice that a little knome of a short man was humping your leg.

Or when you find a strand of hair that is the complete opposite of your own hair color stuck onto your shirt. Particularly a knitted sweater, then it is really fucking gross. To find a strand or two on your sock is fucking gross too. A red strand of hair would be pretty horrifying because I don't know a single fucking person who has red hair that's longer than a centimeter. Finding a pube on the soap bar is my worst nightmare.

Too bad a friend wasn't with me or else I could've pulled that old, "Whose fucking hair is this on the neckline of my shirt? Oh yeah, it's my hot boyfriend's. We were making out hardcore last night that not even a narcoleptic could get to sleep from all that noise."



Monday, January 30
Sometimes I really need to keep my mouth shut. I know, most of the time I ain't no talker but sometimes when I'm yapping away like a motherfucker, it goes all wrong. I was sitting with my friend today in gym and then this fat chunk of a human being comes along and starts whoring herself to the teachers. A little bit too loudly, while sitting right behind the girl's friends, I said that she's fucking lame and is a fat bitch who needs to put some clothes on. It's fucking winter and she's wearing a loose-fitting school tank top. Her arms are as big as an overweight bear's. Well, one of her friends heard and turned around and looked totally shocked. It was then that I knew I should shut the fuck up. At least I know when to shut the fuck up, unlike the girl who I was talking about. I'd known her since elementary school and she's still the biggest dumbfuck ever. Literally big, too.

Call me the biggest bitch of the century, but I rather think I'm just being the honest person of the century. In a negative way, yes. Is this the height of self-indulgence next to Paris Hilton wearing a placemat and dancing on Fat Joe's ass at Diddy's birthday party? Most likely.

My mom and I went to the bank after school today and while she was being slow and shit, I walked to the entrance ahead of her. Right in front of the fucking door, there's a crumpled ten dollar bill on the ground. I stood there for like three seconds saying, "Holy shit" in my mind and dude, it was fucking amazing. Ten bucks on the ground with nobody around to claim. Stupid shithead, it's mine now.

When my mom came to the door, I tried to open it and then we found out that the bank fucking closed at 3:00. I get out of school at 3:03 for some dumb reason that not even Nostradamus could figure out why. When I turn away from the door, about to walk back to the car, I see this big lady with obnoxiously dyed red hair in a car waiting in line for the window banker, with her car window rolled all the way down, head turned right at me and staring like I had a black head growing out of my ass. Bitch, you're just jealous of me picking up ten dollars off the ground because if you'd been the one who found it, all your fucking rolls would be in the way and you'd be incapable of bending over.



Sunday, January 29
Wisdom teeth are coming out this Saturday. Shit, son. Depending on how my body reacts to the surgery, I'll be out of school for a number of days. Shaina and I were just talking a while ago and thought it would be fucking kick ass for me to go to the library beforehand and take out a shitload of Goosebumps books so that if my face isn't so swollen enough, I'd be able to see, therefore read them and laugh my fucking ass off at them during my time of pain. Oh man, I remember when those books were such a major hit. Fucking R.L. Stine and that goddamn mole in the middle of his forehead. Why is it that most horror authors are butt-fucking-ugly? Holy shit, Stephen King was the king of horror novels, and he was also the king of fugly.

I'm going to regret posting a picture of him in probably ten minutes, but the way that I worded that last paragraph just screams for a picture of that ugly motherfucker.

FUG

That picture is the equivalent of five hours-worth of airbrushing and light-adjustments. If you've seen him as a commentator on BravoTV's 100 Scariest Movies of All Time list, then your insides would be like butter right now, and your stomach would be screaming in agony from the fug that you've seen.

Lauren came over at around 5:00PM today to work on biology bullshit. It was cool, we ate Cinnamon Toast Crunch for dinner and watched Comedy Central and The Ref on AMC. All the while she had control of the remote and watched Stephen Lynch and Wild n' Out, I was sitting in front of the computer doing all the work. I actually wanted to, because I can't stand when people make up messy computer documents. It drives me fucking nuts and I have the document made to perfection.

Yeah man, I don't like Stephen Lynch. He's funny at some parts, but overall he's an annoying pain in the ass and needs to go in other directions. A good guitar player indeed, but what he was playing sounded too serious and didn't really go with the lyrics in his comedic songs. Or at least that's just my opinion. She, on the other hand, fucking loves the man.

I don't need to rag on Wild n' Out because that'll take about another ten paragraphs of disses and insults. Especially about Diana Ross' daughter, the one with the eyes the size of 20-year-old hemmorhoids.

But then Mitch Hedberg was on. Holy shit, it was fucking great. He also happens to be pretty fucking bangin and I'm probably the only person who thinks that. I mean, if you haven't noticed, if a guy has long hair and wears aviators, I'd totally want to hit that shit. So basically if there was another me without any tits and has a large penis, I'd most likely want to fuck myself.

He ain't that shabby.

I laughed too hard during his half hour on TV, that I can't quote anything right now because I can't fucking remember anything, except for the escalator/stairs. All I remember is laughing so wide that the sides of my face started hurting. All I needed was some Denis Leary and my day would've been complete. But no, Comedy Central is fucking biased and only showed episodes of Comedy Central Presents, which I don't think he was ever on. Probably not, because he'd spit out as much "fucks" as I would on a day where my head is up in my ass and I'd be angry at everyone. Or to simply put it, a day where my moodswings won't swing down to stable condition.




At around 8:30 tonight at work, I was reorganizing cocktail shakers and bar tool sets, when I heard this knocking from the glass windows. It scares the shit out of me and when I look, there's these two little girls with blue ice cream smeared all over their mouths waving hello to me. Their dad was standing nearby. That's my "WTF?" moment for the day.

Ice cream outside at night in the winter, sounds like something I would do. I used to wear a t-shirt and eat ice cream outside in 40 degree weather right after gym class for a nice cool-down. It was pretty awesome, man.

Strangely, a lot of people have been quitting. One person was supposed to work at the same time that I was tonight, but called in just this afternoon saying that they'd quit. Jesus Christ, they've just been hired this week and I've never even met them yet. There was another person who'd been working for about two months that I'd baffledly never even met, and they quit not too long ago also. Pier 1 now has only about fifteen employees, and I'm hearing that around three more are quitting too. Hopefully I'll get more of my hours back, motherfucker.

My assistant manager Courtney and I were chit-chatting and she told me about this story when she was running a bit late and got to work just about five minutes before the store opened. She had her back facing toward the door and was counting money, until she heard some psycho woman banging and screaming on the locked door as though inside the store the sasquatch had her baby in its hands and was about to pop its head like a Pez dispenser. She said the lady was about to fucking knock down the door, that's how crazy she was.

Meanwhile, Courtney kept on counting the money, ignoring the woman because she was too fucking scared. She then got Chuck, who was also working at the time, to answer the door. He answered it calmly and without getting a beating in the face. He's pretty tall so I don't think that's really possible. But anyway, turns out that the lady was going more insane than Axl Rose on an intruding cameraman because "YOU GUYS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OPEN FIVE MINUTES AGO!!!"

Holy shit, who the fuck gets into a murderously violent mood to shop at Pier 1 Imports? Not even I could get that fucking fucked up wherever there's an acre-large brownie shop in existence. Or maybe. No wait, I fucking would. Because brownies are fucking amazing and household accessories and furniture could kiss their chocolatey ass.



Saturday, January 28
Today I don't work until 5:00PM so I watched a good two hours of The Job. For some reason watching it this time around, I fucking laughed so much that Fran Drescher ain't got shit on me.

Today also happens to be the eve of the Vietnamese/Chinese New Year. I almost thought that I wasn't going to get money from my parents this year for being such a prick. Guess I was wrong, they are, it's just that I still have to do that praising crap that you have to say to every elder that gives you money.

Since there's not much to say and I have the urge to take up space and waste your time and my time, I'll show you kids a student planner cover that I had to design for a conetest. Nobody seems to like it, but I do. That's probably why no one likes it. It goes with that common myth where an artist creates something that they love so fucking much and that they worked so fucking hard on, only to turn out that everybody hates it. But when they make something that is so simple and basic with no work at all, and they hate it to the fucking core, all the critics are absolutely raving over it. Kind of makes me want to go back and make something that was totally half-assed.

front
back



Friday, January 27
Every time that I listen to Soundgarden, I remember some commentary show and some guy saying that they are the modern-day Led Zeppelin. That is the quintessential "WTF?" moment. Take that, Gilbert Gottfried.

CigaretteStub: hi
Whip it GOOD05: hey
Whip it GOOD05: still grounded if you're wondering
CigaretteStub: whore
Whip it GOOD05: ha
Whip it GOOD05: gotcha
CigaretteStub: wanna hang out
Whip it GOOD05: what did i just say

Another "WTF?" moment right there for ya.

My bad luck streak has finally, finally, finally fucking ended. On Tuesday, actually. And I have to say, it was probably the worst fucking week of my life. Maybe I should pull a Jason Lee and try to turn my karma around from now on, without turning into a pussy.

Well it's Friday, so it is the day of my traditional Grounded Friday Movie Night. I think I'll be watching Natural Born Killers again, while I wait to be un-fucking-grounded and go out and purchase They Live. Oh man, that movie kicked so much ass that even Chuck Norris would be on his knees begging for "'ore."

"I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubblegum."

That guy fucking owns your pansy little ass. Partially because his name is is Nada. He is too cool to have a name. He once probably did have a name, but kicked its ass so hard that it died.

Tuesday after school I have to go back to the gynecologist because my birth control prescription expired. When I went to get a refill not too long ago and the pharmacist told me that it had expired, man was I shocked. Already? My baby-vulnerability days are back in action. To you wannabe fathers, get it while it's hot. I really hope I don't get poked around and shit, nobody likes that. Unless you're a metalliac, someone who likes to fuck metallic objects.

Today was the last day of my criminology course, and we'd been watching documentaries on serial killers and other twisted fuckers like that. Many of them were necrophiliacs and every fucking time that I think of the word "necrophiliac" I think of "zoophiliac." Much thanks to my stupid curiosity for reading a textfile on zoophilia and how to do it. It was fucked up shit, alright. Seriously fucked up. I can't think of anything more fucked up than zoophilia, maybe except for that song by Accept called "Balls to the Wall." But then there's this other side of me while reading that shit, and thought it was fucking funny as hell.

I've read many a fucked up thing in my life, but nothing beats reading up on zoophilia. Dogs, and horses - are what I have learned about so far. I got too grossed out to read any further; That is why I cannot list anymore popular animals to have sex with for you. If you are wondering where you could expand your knowledge on getting kinky with animals that have more than two legs and genitals that are bigger than that pork roast that you had for dinner, I'd be happy to gross you out and show you the link.

Right now I still am very freaked out about that shit, being that the textfile that I'd read was written by a woman who had fucked about 49 or so dogs in her lifetime, all male dogs and about two or so female. Jesus fucking Christ. I'm trying to laugh more about it than continue to be totally fucking grossed out, because for me that's the best way to cure something; Try to find some humor in it.

Oh, here's a good way to find humor in zoophilia: Think of the Chicken Lover from South Park. You know, that guy with the mustache who drove that giant blue bus with rainbows painted on it for Read-a-Book Day. He fucked chickens in bushes and the kids found porn in the book collection that was inside the bus.

I almost did a book report on Mein Kampf once, just for the sake of finding a unique book. Negatively unique, true, but what I really wanted to see was to test the tolerance level of my teacher. Mind you, this was around seventh grade that I first got the idea. Oh man, to see that fucker freak out. And the thing is, if I really did do the book report on Mein Kampf, I'd have tried to make it the best and most fucking detailed and highest-quality paper that I could possibly write, to make it look as if I'm actually serious about it. Every time I think about that book, I think of American History X and Edward Furlong's skinheadedness. Now that kid takes that book seriously.

If you haven't noticed already, lately I've been posting a shitload of pictures. To be honest, it's because I don't have as much to say, and post a bunch of shitless pictures to make up for my loss of words. It is quite a failure, I know. Because this one particular entry is so fucking long.

You know who owns more than Nada?


Devo.



Thursday, January 26
Kevin Bacon fucking pwns. I don't know why, he just does. No, that's a fucking lie. Kevin Bacon pwns becuz h3 has a delicious fried p0rk producT in his name. And the fact that we both share the same preference in stylish eyewear makes him all the more pwning of your ass.

He was on Queer Eye For the Straight Guy today. It fucking made my life complete because it's Kevin fucking Bacon surrounded by five flaming homosexuals. Oh, I'm sorry, Diner already filled that void for him.

To tell you the truth, I've never seen Diner. It just felt like the perfect time to slip that joke in there.

Since marrying him for his name is absolutely out of the question, I just thought that if I ever were to have a son, I'd fucking ditch the father's name and just pull a complete post-labor tantrum on the poor guy so that I could be allowed to give the kid the last name of Bacon. And then the greatest first name in the world is Duff. Duff Bacon. Fucking pathetic name, but it's fucking hilarious if you asked me. I've even thought about naming my future car Kurt Russell, just for the fucking hell of it. He ain't done shit that anybody could care about, but his name is definitely worthy to hail a car with. It's like naming your ironing board Patrick Swayze; Fucking hilarious.

But then again, Hugh Jass or Hugh G. Rection is always a good alternative.



Wednesday, January 25
I'd totally hit that shit.

That's as crazy and annoying as I could go in terms of expressing the stereotypical teenage girl dreamboat. Totally drooling over a celebrity of any sort and being a total fanatic, or shall I say, "fangirl," is absolutely immature and ridiculous. Get a fucking life. And mind that those words came from me, the biggest jerk and cold-hearted bitch in the world. Nobody cares if you and Tom Welling are meant to be together but "he just doesn't know it yet." Sure, I have my fetishes among celebrities, but it's really goddamn pointless to be a raging horny fanatic. There's only about 98.6% that you will not hook up with the person. And that fact alone makes me never give a flying fuck about anything, pretty much. I prefer to concentrate on people that I actually know. Fantasy worlds are for fucktards who are too much of a pussy to actually make it a reality. Go ahead, keep on dreaming, and keep on squealing like a hooker who never gets work.

Shit man, my mother arranged for me to have my wisdom teeth removed next fucking Saturday. What I'm nervous about is the pain, the extreme puffage that my face is going to have to swell, and the fact that I cannot eat solid food. Oh, and the "history repeats itself" aspect of this photo.

The good thing is, I get to miss about two days of school, to only sit around all day at home and eat all the ice cream that I want and watch Natural Born Killers for as many times as I want. I could watch as many fucked up movies that I want and as often as I want, so that the agony and pain in those movies could make up for the pain that I would be suffering at the same time. Basically, I'd be back to the scumbag life that I'd loved so much (up to a certain length of time), except that I wouldn't be able to eat the delectable treats that I usually would always stuff my mouth with, like a vaccuum cleaner at a hick house after the exterminator paid the house a visit.

I'd also miss a day of work, but that doesn't matter too much.

Whenever I see Monk on TV, I fucking laugh. Especially during the commercials, opening credits, and previews. Why? Because Detective Monk and I are both obsessive compulsives. Today in computer art, I'd had enough of the dirty mouse and keyboard, and the dust and skinflakes that would always accompany it on the table in front of and around the keyboard and mouse. So, I took my foaming hand sanitizer, sprayed some on a tissue, and started cleaning off the mouse and keyboard. I didn't give a shit if I was pressing buttons and causing all sorts of chaos on the computer. I had to get that shit fucking clean.



Tuesday, January 24
I have come to the conclusion that I have bad hearing. Happens so many times a day when after somebody says something, I say, "What?" They repeat it. "What?" They repeat it again, usually really fast and annoyed by now. "What?" The shit hearing predominantly takes place in my right ear. I know this as a fact because whenever I lay on my right side in bed, exposing my left ear, my dad's snoring through the walls is absolutely agonizing. But when I lay on my left side, exposing my right ear, the agonizing sound of his snoring is very noticeably and comfortably lower.

The bad karma didn't stop yet. This morning I forgot my lunch money, and without having a wallet or anything, didn't even have the chance to shell out my own cash to purchase food. So I pretty much panhandled my way to a satisfied stomach, and got it pretty easy. One person gave me two dollars, and another gave me one. Man, I felt as though a ray of heavenly light reflected off the sun by David Lee Roth's smile just beamed over me from the sky. Or rather, ceiling. But yeah, it was fucking awesome.

Was in a really crappy mood, so before gym class I forged a note from my mom to excuse me for the day. It said:

To Whom This May Concern:

Please excuse Christina from gym class today due to severe menstrual cramping. Thank you for your understanding.


Signed,
Sandy Le

I fucking laughed my ass off. And it worked, too.



Jesus?
Guess who this is and may you receive a blessing from God!



Monday, January 23
I am looking at the layout, and realized that it does not match the content on this page. The way that I dress nowadays sort of accounts for the same thought also. Polka dot purses, ballet flats, lacey tops and cardigans? Come on Christina, you're coming off as a fucking pussy. I couldn't give less of a shit, because it doesn't fucking matter. I used to be cooler back in the day when I would wear my Nine Inch Nails shirt for every two fucking days or so. What a lie. That ain't cool anymore. I see freshmen wearing Slipknot and Hawthorne Heights shirts that are just as black with just as much lettering on them. I want to kick them in the face. Yeah, kick them in the face with my fucking ballet flat that has a flower on it. I bet I could still kick their teeth in all the way to their fucking liver with my ballet flat.

Anyway, Saturday night while extremely bored off of my ass, not being able to sleep, and was flipping through the channels, saw this half-hour special on Mastodon on MTV2. Holy shit, man, it was the first time I'd ever watched that channel in months for more than seven minutes. I was extremely impressed with Mastodon's live shows. Shit man, maybe there is a god.

And then right after those thirty minutes of bliss were over, the next channel, FUSE, had a half-hour-long thing with The Strokes performing. Man, I was going fucking nuts to actually see something that I am a huge fan of on TV. I know not many people like The Strokes, but I fucking do. I'd hit every single one of them, except for Fabrizio because he tapped Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore fucking sucks and she should've never been Cinderella or one of Charlie's Angels. She ruined both movies next to the ugly prince and Lucy Liu's ugliness too.

When you're as tired as I am at the moment, random shit flashes in front of your eyes and ideas just roll out like eggs out of a hen's ass. It's pretty awesome, except for the part where my mom gets angry at me for staying up late. I'm not a sleeper. Like I've said a thousand fucking times before, slumber for me is like watching a movie about hell for eight hours and not being able to get away from it. I can't remember the last time when I had a good dream. All of mine are much like snuff films and apocalyptic disaster films. Yeah man, it sucks balls. I hate sleeping. So if we were to do it, there would be no stopping at all. From night til day, man. From night til day.

Don't you hate that everything bagels have such a long fucking name? It's like that stupid fucking Green Day song, "Wake Me Up When September Ends." Title that is too fucking long. Why can't they just name everything bagels something like, "loaded bagels?" Hell yeah, that is a great fucking name for a bagel. They're loaded. Full of seeds. Full of cream cheese. Full of goodness.

The term "everything bagel" is also a lame excuse for not being able to make up a proper name for it. I say "loaded bagel" is the best term, man. Just watch, some internet spokeswhore will be reading this and before you know it, everything bagels will be the new diet trend and its new term "loaded bagel" will be featured in next week's episode of Best Week Ever.

I have to sign up for my six hours soon. All out of my pocket too, fucker. I just have this horrible feeling that I'm either going to kill 26 people out on the road within my first two hours of driving, or I'm going to maim myself so badly that I wouldn't be able to take a shit by myself anymore for the rest of my life. No wonder my parents wouldn't let me keep the dartboard in my room, they know I'd kill four times as many people with a car. I always talk about how I want to run over animals and dipshits who think Kurt Cobain is a god that created the universe, and it would most likely flow over to just regular pedestrians/any sad loser who happens to be in my way.




Bad karma for me just doesn't stop. Yesterday was a smooooth day at work - I passed my sales goal of $1000 by about $600, sold a shitload of furniture, and with only three employees working, we all passed the store sales goal of $5000. On my break I go to Panera Bread and buy an everything bagel and one of their fucking amazing sexalicious brownies, then headed to Banana Republic while I had about twenty minutes left. Bought a clearance sweater for about nine bucks and an iPod case for five fucking bucks, man. It was the cheapest and greatest fucking iPod case, ever. My eyes were just about to implode when I saw the pricetag on it. I was checking out the sweater tag today and saw that it was made of 15% rabbit fur. No wonder it's so soft. And don't give me that bullshit on how it's inhumane to use rabbit fur in clothing. Take a look at your fucking sneakers, cow killer.

When I come home, I find that my wallet was missing from my purse. Jesus fucking Christ. Both of them, too; I keep one for dolla bills and cards, the other one for change and receipts; fucking wallets these days don't have enough pockets unless you buy those old lady ones that are as big as a scandinavian maple log. I lost $13, my library card, my school IDs from all three years so far, some change, and a shitload of receipts that I like to keep for no reason. Not much, but it still pisses me off to no end. On the contrary, it was all entirely my fucking fault anyway, despite the shitty excuses that I spit out when somebody asks me how I'd lost them. I have no one to blame but myself for this.

I know I didn't mention this yet, but last week I was written up and gotten into trouble by the stupid fucking drama teacher, an aid nicknamed "The Dragon Lady," and the assistant principal. It's too much full of bullshit for me to explain in one day, but it was fucking bullshit, alright. I knew all drama fucks are full of shit, told you so.

Today sort of sucked balls because even though it was a delayed opening, when I got home, my mom kept rubbing in the fact that I'm careless and that's why I lost my wallet; After asking if I was sad or not. Wow, thanks man.

If there is another thing that's a huge disappointment, is folks who just don't get the fucking message that they're not wanted around, but stubbornly and stupidly and blindedly still stick around like brown on poop. Much like a character named Robert Cohn in the Hemingway novel, The Sun Also Rises. If you've read that book, you'd know how much of a pain in the ass stupid people like him can be. Please, go be a pain in the ass to some other poor soul, not me. I'm a poor enough soul being that I'm yellow. I'm sick of high school, man, fucking sick of it. I couldn't give less of a shit if I have no life outside of it, but at least it has more dignity and I'm allowed to shoot people who invade my property.

Oh man, I wish that weren't illegal anymore - shooting stupid fuckers that trespass onto your property. If it were still legal, my entire neighborhood would be dead by now. What I extremely dislike about the suburbs is the nosy neighbors. Especially in New Jersey, it being the most densely populated state in the entire U.S., meaning that there's a shitload of people who live here and these shitload of people live really close to one another = not much space. It only gives everybody an easier view of one another's windows and lawns, and we could easily see everybody else's business also. And it only gives the stupid nosy motherfuckers who have nothing better to do than spy on their own neighbors, to only gossip about them to other neighbors, etc. etc. There's also the ones that go door to door telling people that there's a storm coming. Fucking pointless and a huge pain in the ass if you asked me. And if that Shoot That Fucker Off Your Lawn law weren't illegal anymore, I'd be utilizing that law just like a badge.

Nosy fuckers, mind your own fucking business and stop re-accessorizing your garden every three days and stop walking your newborn baby around in its stroller until it gets sunburn, nobody gives a shit.

If I were an adult who lived in my own house with some other houses with nosy neighbors living in them, I'd spraypaint the front of my house with the words, "I SUPPORT JEFFREY DAHMER." That'll tell them to mind their own goddamn business. You see, I can't do that now, considering I still live with my parents.

One of my alternative plans for my future, next to living the city life in NYC or somewhere in Italy or Greece or some other pleasant European country with stable weather conditions, is to live in a giant fucking house in sub-country USA - where I can have all the metalhead keg parties that I want, shoot any living thing that lives in the woods that I want, have the biggest gun collection in the world all hidden in my huge ass basement under my huge ass house, and run over all the deer and possums that I want in my 1970 Dodge Charger while sporting my aviators and blasting Foghat on the radio. Kind of ironic that I pretty much just summed up Ted Nugent's redneck life, because I'm a fucking asian chick.

Anyway, I need a radio. Pronto. I'm missing out on so much since David Lee Roth got his own radio show and replaced Howard Stern on K-ROCK. But since I am grounded, I have no way of purchasing one for at least seven measly bucks.



Saturday, January 21
"1979" is pretty much the only song that I ever listen to by the Smashing Pumpkins; Unless I'm too lazy to touch my iPod again and it drifts onto the next song. They're a damn pretty good band, but just not the band that I could listen to for that much. Probably because I am terribly biased against Billy Corgan's head. I mean, every time I think of the Smashing Pumpkins I have to think of Billy Corgan and every time that I think of Billy Corgan I think of these mushrooms:



And thinking of mushrooms reminds me of when I was a little kid walking around the exterior grounds of my house and finding ugly mushrooms somewhere at the bottom of a tree. I would then take a giant stick and smack the living fucking hell out of the ugly mushrooms, watching their funky tops and stems wiggling like little white eskimo people firmly stuck into the ground. They would scare the shit out of me by the way they would wiggle when I continually hit them with the stick - which is why I wanted to beat the shit out of them before they scared the living hell out of me. Mushrooms are fucking scary, man.

Work went smoothly. Discovered that I am no longer the last employee to be listed on the weekly work schedule, but that I have moved about five or six or more spaces up out of the approximately fifteen or seventeen employees total. I also discovered that I still work four hours a day, two days a week, but on both days I have two-hour flex shifts, which equals to six. So I am gradually getting my goddamn hours back. Which is a good thing, because I need the money to buy my one true love:

Oh baby, come to mama.

Today I pulled the ultimate deed in asshole-ism. I watched that deleted courtroom scene in Natural Born Killers while my mom was sitting in the living room on the other sofa, and Ashley Judd happens to be her favorite actress. Talk about jerk. My motive was not to piss her off, but I simply just watched it because it's such a fucking great scene, man. I didn't realize that it was not very nice until right now, which is about eleven hours later.



Friday, January 20
I just had the shittiest week in the world. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is that karma bit me in the ass so hard that I'd be shitting out tooth enamel for a week. So what did I do on Friday night? The night to end this fucking week of shit? Watched Natural Born Killers. Oh man, the first time I watched it, I was like, "Holy fucking shit what the fuck?" Now I'm like, "Fuck yeah, man."

The best parts were Tommy Lee Jones and his Big Bob's Boy haircut and the nose clippers and all the spitting when he talks, the prison riot, and when Woody Harrelson kills Ashley Judd with a pencil while she's testifying in court. I fucking laugh my ass off at each one of those things. Such horrible things, but I just can't fucking help myself.

I work tomorrow for a measly four hours. I should make the best of it and actually take pride in my work; to get my fucking hours back. I also noticed that my name has gradually flowed down to now being the last name listed on the weekly work schedule, even if I am not the newest employee. Man, I suck. Part of working at Pier 1 Imports is being friendly, talkative, and willful to help others. I'm none of that, and I was only a fucking tool in the first place just so that I could get the job. Then I got lazy, then they cut my hours, then I realized I must continue to be a fucking tool again in order to get my hours and money and respect back. Jesus fucking Christ.



Wednesday, January 18
pimpsdaddy3400: story time i have a story for u
WhipItGOOD05: alright
pimpsdaddy3400: ok there is this girl in my class she is latino and them girls be having fat ass you know and one day me and him was talking this is like 2 years ago and this latino girls walk pass to scan her card in then the bell ring and i made a bet with him that i would grap her nice big ass and he was behind me so he could see and i grap her ass and she turn around smile and me and walk away

Why do I talk to this guy?




This is The Shatner.



Tuesday, January 17
Jesus fucking Christ, motherfucker. I just got grounded for getting frustrated in front of my dentist. He was talking to my mom about my wisdom teeth and all that bullshit, and when she was trying to say something to me, she says it like a fucking blender on "whip." Her words are like gibberish and when I'm listening to her I look like I'm on dope because she's going too fast and saying too many things at once and I have no fucking idea what she's trying to say so I'd finally had enough of it and loud (but humorously) say, "WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU ASKING?"

During dinner it's all fine and shit, until she suddenly blurts out, "I'm so disappointed in you." And goes on explaining how dare I talk to my parents like that and how I don't know about my own teeth and that the dentist probably thinks we're both really stupid. Wow, way to take things seriously. It wasn't even a quarrel, folks misunderstand all the time.

So she said my sentence is that I can no longer ask her to take me shopping or go out with any friends. Do I ever? She said I have to stay home and "Practice on being a good person. Fix it." Dude, I stay home anyway. I go out with a friend once in a blue moon, and usually it's for no more than five hours. That's how much of a social life I have. But I never bitched, because there's nothing I could do about my parental restriction policies. Except maybe become a square, but I'm not up for that. The day I become a fucking square is when David Hasselhoff waxes his chest.

Forcing me to stay home? To what? Make me talk less? I know I'm not much of a talker in person, and making me stay home to not have any connection with the real world makes me have even less to say for when I actually do go out. I've even gone days that I'd say more words here than I actually do verbally. That's usually during summer when my last report card for the school year comes in and I'm pretty much fucked for the entire vacation.

The dentist appointment in itself was quite the terrifying experience. This weird nurse that I had never seen before cleaned my teeth with this pin-sharp spinning needle that screeched against my teeth so that I could feel the piercing pain throughout my whole body. The feeling was worse than the sound it made. All the while this medieval instrument of some sort is making saliva splash all over my fucking face - even more humiliation. The cleaning hurt so bad that my hands were wringing air like I was squeezing the life out of a newborn baby deer in each hand. Once I found the armrests, may god have mercy on them because they must be fucking more wrecked than Paris Hilton's cha cha.

Jesus fucking Christ, my eyes were squinting in agony and my head kept tossing out of natural reaction. I pretty much looked like this:



I think if I watched that movie right now I'd be sent straight to the insane asylum. Also known as the Warped Tour.

While I was on the chair, looking straight into the beaming white light that was above my face, images these movies were flashing before my eyes:

Hostel
Reservoir Dogs
Suicide Kings
Guinea Pig
Flower of Flesh and Blood
Audition

This has been the worst dentist visit yet. Moreso than the one when I had to have four teeth removed at the tender age of nine. The dentist that removed those four teeth was vietnamese. When my insurance wouldn't cover her anymore, I had to get a new one, Dr. Cleave. My mom told me that when he had heard about the four teeth being taken out, he said that it was absolutely, completely wrong in doing so. So I am now permanently deprived of four teeth for the rest of my life. We can't speak to or sue the vietnamese dentist because, well, she recently died of cancer.

What a shitty day, man. I was running on only five hours of sleep from achieving a world record of writing a 7-fucking-page research paper about ancient Roman torture in just one night. It was pretty amazing, I have to say. I was really proud of myself at around 1:30 in the morning, and was just about ready to bust out my chops and party like there was no tomorrow - by myself. For some reason when I stay up for about 29 or more hours, I have as much energy as Gilbert Gottfried's vocal chords.

But then I had to go to bed. Once I sleep, and can only sleep for a short, shitty amount of time, that is when Axl Mode comes in. Yeah, today wasn't all that great. I managed to be physically tortured and emotionally wrecked. Not really emotionally wrecked, because fuck emo, man. Stop fucking crying and pick up the goddamn AK47.

Yesterday, on the other hand, was rather splendid. It was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Everybody in the world is full of joy on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It's like the spitting image of Jesus is once again celebrated and it is believed that world peace would come out of his holy ass. School was only a half day, so after school I went driving with Eric to run his errands for an hour or so, which was really nice. Then when I got home and as usual, there was nothing on TV, I found a documentary on CNBC that was about Wal-Mart, man.



Sunday, January 15
Man, I have to measure hominid skulls and write a 7-page paper to write for homework. I'd rather go to a Tom Jones concert and boogie with 50-year-olds. I seriously would. What's new, pussycat? Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoooooa.

One thing that I would not fucking do is listen to that shitty band called Europe. Like that famous quote which I've forgotten who it's by, "all bands that have a geographical name suck." It's really true. Asia, Europe, Boston, Kansas, America - all shittier than your ass after five weeks without wiping. The only swedish band that I could think of that aren't too shabby are The Hives. No idea where they are nowadays, but they ain't bad. Europe, on the other hand, is. Not in the "bad" sense that Michael Little Boy Lover Jackson puts it. If you've never heard the song "The Final Countdown," consider yourself luckier than Heather Locklear. Because who the fuck doesn't want to be Heather Locklear?

Here is Joey Tempest. Frontman of Europe. Gay? I very much think so. Close friend of Richard Simmons? Most likely.

Jesus Christ, not even Jon Bon Jovi's hair was this bad. Not to mention that Jon Bon Jovi never attempted the "my face looks like a menstruating Wolverine" thing either. Or at least out of my own knowledge he never attempted that.

I used to stay up for hours at night tossing and turning in agony because "The Final Countdown" was stuck in my head. The only other two bands that almost beat that record were Maroon 5 and The Black Eyed Peas. Yeah, you fucking pee-in-your-pants-er, Fergie. Fergie sucks. Period.

There's this new show on HGTV called ReDesign, hosted by a young man named Kenneth Brown. My mom enjoys the show very much because she is an asian homemaker who has an asshole for an oldest daughter. Kenneth Brown very much resembles a dearly beloved musician. A dearly beloved musician named John Denver.

Kenneth Brown. Interior design extraordinaire.

John Denver. Sunshine on his shoulder makes him happy.

My parents owned one of his cassettes. One day while they were cleaning out some of their music collection, they said I could take whatever I wanted. I decided to take the two Beatles cassettes. What happened to the John Denver and Billy Ray Cyrus tapes? No fucking idea. But I really wish I took them too. My heart is now an achy breaky heart.

Today I actually worked for only six hours, which was a nice relief. I didn't have to work my nonsensical flex shift, so I had sort of a 4-hour break between my actual shift and the store meeting. The store meeting that started at 7:00 was pretty fun for the first hour, but then the second hour totally sucked balls because everybody had to walk around to different bedsets and listen to the manager talk about policies and all that exciting fantastic bullshit. But it's important bullshit so I listened anyway. While looking at my new shoes.



Saturday, January 14
I just watched Vanilla Sky and right when the movie ended, right after the last line was said, I was like, "What the fuck?" Well despite that rather displeasing ending, it was a good movie anyway. I liked seeing Cameron Diaz getting the shit kicked out of her. She was sort of getting the shit kicked out of her, because Tom in the Closet Cruise was suffocating her with a pillow right after probably the greatest fuck of her life.

Weather is pretty shitty tonight. This afternoon it was approximately 60 degrees out and just when darkness fell, it all turned around. Rain, hail, wind, then snow. It's so fucking bad that at when certain times that the wind gusted, we could hear the planks on the side of the house creaking. The snow and the hail with the wind was so bad that it's fucking stuck all over the windows. And don't forget about that fog, man. That fucking fog makes the pink night sky with everything smoothed and simplified out by the snow look like a giant vagina. That's right, looking out the window right now is like looking into a giant vagina.

Today I worked for four hours at the Imports of Pier 1. It's only fucking about two minutes compared to tomorrow. I saw on the schedule that I'm supposed to work for six hours, from 11:00AM to 9:00PM. Dude, that's fucking ten hours, not six. It doesn't make fucking sense. Since there's a store meeting at 7 - 9, I was guessing that from 5 - 7 I'd be off duty. But then I read that I had a flex shift from 3 - 7. If I have to work that flex shift, it would be fucking against the law, being that I am underage. Not to mention that I'm going to be fucking exhausted. Who knows. But if I really had to work that long, I would get two paid breaks.

Oh man, that means I could go to Panera Bread and Qdoba in one single day. Maybe even Bensi. Holy shit.

Last night I saw this show on FUSE called Metal Asylum. It was pretty tolerable for this day and age, and that pretty much fucking surprised me up the fucking wall. One of the videos they aired was by a band called Strapping Young Lad. I have to say, they ain't that bad, had it not been for the frontman. God, that would've been one hell of an awesome video if the frontman hadn't existed. He made it pretty fucking ridiculous and I couldn't take them seriously at all because he's so fucking cheesy and sucks at growling. He growls like a drunken wolf with an italian sausage stuck in its butt crack.

This morning my mom and I made fried taro cake. I miss it very much. Because it is very good.



Wednesday, January 11
Which actor has been cast in the most movies?

Morgan Freeman
Tommy Lee Jones
Gary Busey

Morgan Freeman. Or at least in my point of view. It's amazing how many The Mature Guy Who Helps the Younger Characters With His Wisdom roles he has played in all of the many many years that he's been in the movie business. It's insane, I tell you. He is also known for the fact that I cannot name a single Ashley Judd movie where he is not in it. If he isn't in an Ashley Judd movie, surely you are mistaken and he has a cameo role as a skinny tree.

When asked what movie defined their childhood, many people like to say pussy shit like The Wizard of Oz or The Little Mermaid. I shouldn't be talking because the movie that defined my childhood was Spice World.

dude

My favorite was Sporty Spice, because I was quite the tomboy back in the day. Regardless of the time when I wore black lycra, being that I had quite the smokin' hot bod back then. But anyway, before I liked Sporty Spice I was a total Posh Spice chick. I still want that dress that she is wearing, as opposed to anything that Scary, Baby, and Ginger Spice are adorning. Jesus fucking Christ, the last time I'd ever seen so much color within such a small radius of space was in an emo kid's hair. Or maybe Boy George. But I just felt like slipping in an emo insult there.

My cousin gave me Spice World as an eighth or ninth birthday present, and included with the VHS was a poster. Thank goodness I never hung it up. My Pokemon phase was even worse. One entire wall of my room was entirely dedicated to that bullshit. It absolutely is bullshit, but even nowadays I still like to make fun of it (and me). It's pretty easy to make fun of because I was quite the amazing Pokemon master and I still pretty much remember everything about it. Just some useless knowledge that cracks me up to no end. Abra was a psychic Pokemon that evolved into Kadabra and then Kadabra evolved into Alakazam. Their gym leader was Sabrina, whose gym was in Saffron City. The first time around that Ash Ketchum visited her gym to win his fifth badge, she humiliated him by pulling his pants down and making him do the hula dance with her psychic powers. Hell yeah, motherfucker, I know my Pokemon.

You DDR kids who I guarantee used to be (or maybe still are) Pokemon fans know what I am talking about.

Rob Halford in 1978 closely resembling a little dutch boy.

A little dutch boy closely resembling Rob Halford.



Tuesday, January 10
I know I start many a paragraph with this phrase:

If there is one thing that I hate, it's drama nerds. A girl brought in the Rent soundtrack for our gym class to listen to, and it pissed me off so fucking much that I felt an imaginary hammer beating the shit out of the sane part of my brain inside of my head. Much like the walking hammers that you see in The Wall. Beating and beating my poor brain; I could feel the pink and red juices and cells splashing everywhere within my skull with every indentation as another smash from the hammer impaled its metal smasher into it. It was fucking horrible. Fucking lame. The girl and her friends kept singing along to all of the songs like they were praying to god or something. The imposter god, not David Lee Roth. They obviously did not read the bible correctly, for David Lee Roth is the one who created the universe in not six days or six weeks, but while he drank six hundred beers in six seconds. Beat that, god. Admit it, god totally knocked up Mary in a synagogue.

Actually, David Lee Roth knocked up Mary and created Chuck Norris.



If there is another thing that I dislike very much, if you hadn't already noticed, is broadway. On my eighth grade field trip, the entire eigth grade went to New York City to eat at ESPN Center, spend part of the night on a cruise that went around the city, and before the cruise was to see the show 42nd Street. That was one of the worst one hour and thirty minutes that I had ever experienced in my entire life. That was only the first half of the show. It was so fucking boring that I literally slumped in my seat, trying to stay awake and keep my eyelids open like I was trying to lift two-ton lead weights with them. When everyone on a stage lit up brighter than your mom last night is supposed to act happy and jovial and inject botox on their dimples before every performance that lasts for about three hours or more, the show will clearly suck. I cannot stand watching something with that same overall emotion being played for that long. It's practically as boring as a Dave Matthews Band album.

All the dancing and flashy costumes is not in any way like an acid trip. It just gives me a fucking headache, like I'm watching H n' R Puf n' Stuff while the characters in their giant foam costumes go on a supermarket shopping spree, racing their carts up and down the aisles after snorting insane amounts of cocaine (mind you that I did not say marijuana), added to the incriminating high-pitched singing that sounds really bad that is included with the broadway show. Usually that singing sounds a lot like shopping carts [and the food in them] bouncing up and down on top of hundreds of tiles while the carts move at 50MPH.

Since that negatively aforementioned movie has been released, all of a sudden everybody (by that I mean short girls with greasy hair who listen to showtunes and can't get laid) jumps on the bandwagon and is suddenly totally infatuated in the world of Broadway. All of a sudden there's a bunch of dipshits walking down the un-sidewalk-containing streets of Rockaway singing songs from Rent. Get a fucking life I don't want to hear you sing. Much less make me do stretches while listening to that bullshit and expecting me to feel good afterwards.

"OMG Rosario Dawson is so beautiful, I wish I looked like her."

In your dreams, moron. Unless you're a dyke, stop talking about how hot certain women are so much and start working on that You Can't Get Laid at All issue. And I mean with an actual boner. I've seen that actress in 25th Hour and quite not so frankly I don't give a shit about her at all. Why? Because I was paying attention to Edward Norton, that's fucking why, man. Edward Norton is the fucking man. You want a real movie? Watch American History X. There's some skinheads and fat racist fucks for ya.

In matters of good news, my mom said we're having quesadillas for dinner tomorrow.



Monday, January 9
This weekend after I get another paycheck from work my mom's going to take me to sign up for a bank account, because up to a certain amount of checks it's the law to, well, stop making somebody else cash in your checks. Or at least something like that. Damn right, I'm a big girl now. Even though I look fucking ancient for my age.

I am holding $400 in my hand right now and goddamn, it feels good. Like a bitch on a pimp crotch. After work on Saturday my mom and I might go to Short Hills or Willowbrook to buy pots at Pottery Barn and anthropologists at Anthropologie. We think there is a Pottery Barn there, or a Crate & Barrel. Perhaps both.

Lately I've been in the mood to watch Natural Born Killers again. We all know that when a person wants to watch Natural Born Killers, that person is either in the emotion of a murderous rage or is murderously horny. I'm neither. I just like watching that movie.

One thing that baffles me about it, aside from pretty much the entire movie in itself, is that I could not understand a single fucking thing that Robert Downey Jr. says.

He was trying to be cool and further satisfy his viewers, so he went for the MC Hammer hair doo that went all wrong. Also looks like Roger Klotz from that old Nickelodeon show, Doug.

I also think I'm pretty much the only chick in the world next to what Demi Moore had to act as, who has a thing for Woody Harrelson. I admit it, fucker. Whenever he's on TV, I never hesitate to stop and watch him playing the character that is either stupid or fucks up, or is stupid and fucks up. My most memorable movie moment of his was when he blew up his ass by accidentally pulling the grenade handle with the grenade still remaining stuck on his belt in The Thin Red Line. Totally not funny, but the first time around while watching that scene with my dad, we fucking cracked up for minutes upon minutes. Simply because he fucking blew up his ass.

Fire in the hole!

Woody Harrelson promotes the use of industrial Hemp.

We all know that one of the best parts in Natural Born Killers is Tommy Lee Jones and his Big Bob's Boy haircut.

Big Bob's Boy



Sunday, January 8
While walking through the mighty Amazon, three ear whizzes climbed onto the side of his head.

But unfortunately this being has many folds and holes on its face, so the ear whizzes had quite a difficult time finding an ear and crawled into his mouth.

The three ear whizzes found that moldy teeth (much like what you would find in George Clinton's hair) tasted very good and invited their friends over.

Space Ghost unleashes his power upon thy specimen.


Name this ridiculous being and where it's from and win nothing! Some clues:

1. That is not Zorak.
2. That is not Patrick Stewart in Star Trek: One of the Many Different Series.
3. That is probably a tracheotomy scar on his neck.
4. That is not Moltar.



Saturday, January 7
I'm fucking sick of winter, man. Just a while ago when I was dusting my parents' television screen with a Pledge Grab-It cloth, the most unholy of electric shocks zapped my arm. My arm, not my fucking finger. It was the sickest thing ever. So loud a sound it made that it was like AC/DC just possessed me and then phantasmically decked my fucking face with an Angus Young. While cleaning the dust off, all of a sudden something grabbed two of my fingers, went past my elbow and stopped somewhere past my shoulder, and then pushed me the fuck away like it didn't want to be cleaned. My dad was lying down watching the TV when it happened, and he laughed at my huge jump. I wish all pieces of furniture was like that, so I won't ever have to clean any of it.

Tonight Lindsay and I were supposed to hang out at her house; eat like kings and watch a movie. But as expected, somebody at work called out so one of my managers called me to come in for the lazy person if I could. Since I'd like my fucking hours (and money) back, and to further show my "loyalty," I accepted the offer. It's all fine because her parents wanted her to come with them to some party.

This morning Ilona called and asked me if I could go see Casanova today. Man, this girl just has the worst ideas for things to do. I'm not spending another minute in a movie theater where I pay nine dollars to just sit and do nothing. I asked who was in it and she said, "That hot guy from Brokeback Mountain, the movie with the gay cowboys and shit." If I hear about that fucking movie one more time, I'm going to tell whoever mentions it to go shove a fag up their ass and see how it feels. And to be honest, I don't find Heath Ledger all that appealing. Neither do I find Jake Gylenhaal that appealing either. If Colin Farrell gets his ego/head out of his ass and stops dying his hair numerous amounts of blonde and makes another movie, then I would be very splendid. Actually I recall he might be having another movie coming out sometime or other. I don't fucking know, because it's not worth watching the commercials on the E! network anymore, much less the goddamn channel itself. Not even the TV.



Friday, January 6
There's this person who hates me to the fucking core and pretty much ran away from me today. I enjoyed every second of their avoiding of me and all the scoffing and trying to get the hell out of my face, but I just fucking laugh.

Since my hours were cut (more like butchered), I am a free woman tonight. I haven't had a completely free Friday in two months, which was the time since I'd started working at Pier 1. I don't even work tomorrow; Only four fucking puny hours this week and I worked those four hours on Sunday. Jesus fucking Christ. If this keeps up, I'd only make about thirty bucks a week. Talk about lame. Like Fall Out Boy type of lame.

Ilona invited me to go see Memoirs of a Geisha with her and someone else but I rejected the offer because she always asks at the wrong time (wrong time as in I'm tired and would rather sit and eat mashed potatoes in the comfort of my own sofa) and plus, it's a sissy's movie. Although it really does look like a good film, it's not worthy enough for me to actually spend $15 for a ticket and snacks to sit down in a giant dark room and not talk to anybody for two hours. I'd absolutely prefer to see Hostel over that. Something to make me squirm and freak me out - something that's actually going to freak the hell out of me, and something worth a good shock. Since I like to torture others, Hostel is the movie for me.

You ain't seen the greatest guitar until you see Diamond Dave with his manly bear rug chest and an ice cream bar guitar.



Thursday, January 5
I downloaded ABBA onto my iPod. Life is good.

Ever since David Lee Roth started as the new replacement for Howard Stern, I've been trying to turn it into my morning ritual. It failed because I stole my sister's radio and it died on me the second day. I haven't touched it since. And to be quite honest, I don't know if it's broken or not; Because it just could've been the outlet that failed.

I've been putting on the pounds, something I hate to admit but the first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have a godddamn problem. That is some advice for you fucking emo kids out there, and for those of you who think Hawthorne Heights is worthy of playing a Freddie Mercury tribute concert with George Michael. Tom Jones could make it, I'm positive. But anyway, people say that a girl tends to eat a lot when she's depressed. Fuck no, man. The day when I am depressed is the day that Jean Claude Van Damme wins an Oscar for the leading role in Deliverance II. It's in my blood; I was born to pig out. It's just that this thing called "maturing into an adult" is getting in my way. As you get older, not a child anymore, your metabolism tends to slow down.

Last night while I was in the shower I was thinking of Jon Lovitz.

Reporter for Full Frontal Fashion: "Are you a model?"
Jon Lovitz: "Yes, a pear-shaped model."

I just fucking laughed my ass off when first seeing that. Now I still think it's funny, but I don't laugh anymore because I tell it too often. He was in The Brave Little Toaster, starring as our beloved brave little toaster. I remember crying during that movie when I was two years old. I fucking swear, it's a heart-wrenching film.

Can you count how many trucks are in this picture?

Hell yeah, man.



Monday, January 2
I seem to have quite a strong fetish for war movies. Whenever I'm flipping through the channels and see a snippet of green, mud, dirt, camouflage and artillery between the usual of television these days - boobs, Hilary Duff, and men with no balls - I immediately stop in my tracks. Today at 3:30 the almighty AMC aired Uncommon Valor, and I put aside all my homework and appetite and everything fucking else to lie down and watch this movie. The cast included Gene Hackman, the guy with the awesome voice from Unsolved Mysteries (Robert Stack), a big burly man with curly hair [but with a warm heart], a middle-aged white man with a long horse-shaped face and white hair who hadn't taken off his aviators in six years, and of course, no war movie is complete without a black man with a piece of cloth tied around his head.

Have you noticed that practically every war movie has one black man wearing a piece of cloth tied around his head? And in some cases wearing a daishiki and always yielding an AK47? I remember in Apocalypse Now when I think it was Laurence Fishburne who wore a headband and yielding a rather large firearm, on a boat with Martin Sheen and a few other guys, and on that boat, the words "Canned Heat" were sprayed on it. I'm going to fucking name my dog that someday, if I ever do get a dog.

Unfortunately, this category applies pretty much to only Vietnam War movies.

Laurence Fishburne, Apocalypse Now

Reggie Johnson, Platoon

Eddie Griffin, The Walking Dead

Close enough.

I fucking swore this was Gene Hackman the second I saw it.



Sunday, January 1
When I am forced to eat healthy, I don't bother with the fucking fruits and vegetables. They taste like grass or grainy water chunks and do not fill my stomach at all; No fucking way am I going to peel ten more pieces of fruit until my stomach starts spewing out fruit juice. So, what to do? Cinnamon Toast Crunch, man. This cereal has saved my life. I don't care if it's loaded with sugar, but they say cereal is good for you, so I eat it all the time nowadays. I think the most bowls of it that I ate in one day was four or five. One after lunch, two for snack, and two for a goodnight snack.

Hell yeah.




Possibly one of the greatest nights of my life - Amy came over to celebrate New Year's with me, with my folks gone to some party. We ate like pigs and I grew a new friend; also known as a stomach. Pizza Hut, cool ranch Doritos, white fudge pretzel clusters, Sunny Delight, Sunkist, and Smirnoff. Sadly, she had to leave minutes after the stroke of midnight.

Jazz hands, man.

Yeah dude.

Myself walking to the hydrant.

Had it been forty degrees warmer, you'd be seeing my bare ass.

Tree Hugger

I ain't no authentic tree hugger.

Vaccuuming a spider off of my wall because I'm a fucking pussy.

"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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