I still have to admit, that this will always remain as one of my favorite fucking albums in the history of fucking history.
Don't call me a fucking pussy! Smashing Pumpkins ain't a pussy band. Like how the Rolling Stones aren't really in their 60s.
But don't worry, I still adore my fair share of Faith No More every hour or so.
And I still need someone legit to come see Peeping Tom with me in April. I think Raxa might come with me, what a good buddy. She's flexible and actually cares, unlike everyone else. Who do I still genuinely and wholeheartingly talk to? Pretty much, I'd have to say, "nada." The show is fucking three months away, why the fuck say no right now? Oh, it's because most people 'round my Radius of Pathetic People underestimate Mike "The Man" Patton. I don't even know what to say to that. Dismissing Mike Patton is like forgetting about your wedding day and going to White Castle for breakfast; forgetting about your mother's funeral to go to the arcade (does anyone do that anymore besides for DDR retards?); dismissing a sexual advance from Alessandra Ambrosio or Ian Somerhalder; not noticing that Jesus is sitting in your favorite armchair - basically, only a fucktard would. I'm sorry, am I getting carried away? My apologies.
Look!
I fucking hate when somebody applies Bengay or IcyHot on some part of their body of which they need medical attention. It smells too strong - and not even in the good sense of a strong smell. Actually, I don't think "strong smell" could ever mean any sort of a good smell at all.
Don't worry, Christina. Things will get better. Your mother will stop torturing the pathetic lame-ass entity known as your soul, your father will start helping you to defend yourself against your abusive mother, all other fellow vietnamese people will not shun you for being a radical, you will go see Peeping Tom with a worthy individual and suck Mike Patton's cock, you will write and publish a 300-page book about nothing and earn $30 million in royalties, you will win the lottery, you will OWN A 1969 DODGE CHARGER!!!!
Fucking twats. I have nothing to look forward to until April 9th. Obsessive? What else have I got to live for? Oh yeah, fudge brownies with chocolate sprinkles and cream cheese frosting.
I am now the "men's expert" at Banana Republic. Just because one day I decided to do exceptionally well in cleaning and perfecting the entire men's side of the store as though in a magazine - so my managers theorized from then on that I am a master at men's clothing; when I really don't know jack shit about it. I just clean very well and want to keep my job. I could do the same exact shit when I'm working in the women's side of the store. Whatever, at least I get to speak to all the prime pieces of meat who walk through my part of the store.
What is the point of being friends with somebody when they never welcome you into their life? When you always welcome them into yours? I don't get that. Am I not worthy? Probably not, to the general population - but it definitely hurts one's feelings. (reminds me of Wayne and Garth in terms of "worthiness") Yes, I just said, "Hurts my feelings." Oh man, to think of some of the wussiest sentences to ever say.
"That hurts my feelings."
"That makes me sad."
"You make me smile."
Sorry, but I am not that emo enough to think of anymore.
Did you know, that I still refer to pizza as being one of my favorite foods?
Did you know, that Napoleon Bonaparte had a 1-inch penis?
Did you know, that this entry is really annoying?
Christina N. @ 10:39 PM
