So...um....yea.
Someone just bought me a gift account? I guess, either that or someone is trying to steal my identity and they chose a roundabout way to do it. So, thanks, whoever the hell you are.
Jesus christ, is that a picture of me? I can't believe I thought that looked good. although, maybe the saddest part is so little has changed. Just got rid of all the goddamn make up.
Someone just bought me a gift account? I guess, either that or someone is trying to steal my identity and they chose a roundabout way to do it. So, thanks, whoever the hell you are.
Jesus christ, is that a picture of me? I can't believe I thought that looked good. although, maybe the saddest part is so little has changed. Just got rid of all the goddamn make up.
Well, the rising cost of college forces me to cut one more thing out of my life. I'm cancelling my account, sadly. Hopefully, I'll be able to reactivate at a later date, however, the future remains to be seen. You have my AIM and yahoo names, so feel free to keep in touch with me,
Peace.
Peace.
I no longer have any idea what I'm doing here, and I couldn't be more bored if I tried.
The very idea sickens me.
The very idea sickens me.
Life is a series of learning expierences.
For example, I learned this weekend that, when I mix Southern Comfort and marijuana, I lose control of all muscle function and black out frquently.
This will probably not keep me from doing it, but now I know at least.
And knowing is half the battle. G.I. Joe
For example, I learned this weekend that, when I mix Southern Comfort and marijuana, I lose control of all muscle function and black out frquently.
This will probably not keep me from doing it, but now I know at least.
And knowing is half the battle. G.I. Joe
I need a job. So, for those of you living around the Fredericksburg area, I am now performing services for money. I am an ordained minister, I can sing most of "Night Moves," and I rarely turn state's evidence. I am desperate for money. I need bourbon and clove cigarettes.
No weirdos.
No weirdos.
An Open Letter to my neighbor:
How long did it take you to attain the particular level of douche that you seem so proud to display to the neigborhood?
I mow the lawn every other week, and I usually avoid work like the plague, so I know simple lawncare is not some sort of fucking arduous task. It takes maybe a half-hour, possibly a full hour because you've got the biggest goddamn house on the block. Which is why I'm so aggrivated with you. Most of the time, I'm content to ignore the ninety-nine percent of humanity that tends to piss me off on a near constant basis. However, you have managed to earn a place in my cold, black heart, for two reasons.
1. You live in the most expensive house on the block. Your house is worth at least two million, far surpassing every other one story bungalow on what was a nice, if dull block to live on. You are single-handedly bringing down the property value of everyone else's house because you've decided that your backyard is closer than the town landfill. Which isn't so bad, until you consider...
2. The woman before you kept the house immaculate. And she was a ninety-three yeard old shut-in. I have a hard time believing that a thirty year old is more of an invalid than someone who gave reality a fond farewell years before I even met her.
Maybe you're too busy carrying in those camo gun bags all the time. That's the only reason I haven't approached you in person, you giant festering bowl of piss. I know that napalm and pipe bombs aren't difficult to make, and if you are running a militia out of your basement, I don't feel like interrupting a meeting of "Americans Of The Old Way", or whatever you name a nutcase militia. I'm not sure exactly what you call a militia, but I do know almost all of them have M16s and C4, and those are two things that interrupt the flow of my day. And in reality, I don't give a shit. I don't give a damn what branch of the government you want to overthrow or what insane reason you have for wishing to do so. Just, between building a steel-reinforced bunker to prepare for armageddon and timing how fast you can reassemble an AK-47 while blindfolded, get out and mow your fucking lawn.
How long did it take you to attain the particular level of douche that you seem so proud to display to the neigborhood?
I mow the lawn every other week, and I usually avoid work like the plague, so I know simple lawncare is not some sort of fucking arduous task. It takes maybe a half-hour, possibly a full hour because you've got the biggest goddamn house on the block. Which is why I'm so aggrivated with you. Most of the time, I'm content to ignore the ninety-nine percent of humanity that tends to piss me off on a near constant basis. However, you have managed to earn a place in my cold, black heart, for two reasons.
1. You live in the most expensive house on the block. Your house is worth at least two million, far surpassing every other one story bungalow on what was a nice, if dull block to live on. You are single-handedly bringing down the property value of everyone else's house because you've decided that your backyard is closer than the town landfill. Which isn't so bad, until you consider...
2. The woman before you kept the house immaculate. And she was a ninety-three yeard old shut-in. I have a hard time believing that a thirty year old is more of an invalid than someone who gave reality a fond farewell years before I even met her.
Maybe you're too busy carrying in those camo gun bags all the time. That's the only reason I haven't approached you in person, you giant festering bowl of piss. I know that napalm and pipe bombs aren't difficult to make, and if you are running a militia out of your basement, I don't feel like interrupting a meeting of "Americans Of The Old Way", or whatever you name a nutcase militia. I'm not sure exactly what you call a militia, but I do know almost all of them have M16s and C4, and those are two things that interrupt the flow of my day. And in reality, I don't give a shit. I don't give a damn what branch of the government you want to overthrow or what insane reason you have for wishing to do so. Just, between building a steel-reinforced bunker to prepare for armageddon and timing how fast you can reassemble an AK-47 while blindfolded, get out and mow your fucking lawn.
Alright, I haven't updated in a while, but there's a good reason for that, and every college student knows what I mean...finals. I pased my English portfolio, which is great news, because now I can take an Enlgish class that might actually be challenging. God forbid. I also signed up for my fall clases (French 101, Contempoary Lit, History 101, and Stagecraft) and met my fall roommate.
I chopped off the mohawk without taking any pictures, but it wasn't that great anyway. I apparently do not have a "mohawk friendly" skull. However, now I have a bizzarre buzz cut, which isn't a whole lot better.
I have set a new record. I was kicked out of a party in under twenty minutes, while sober, and without getting in a fight. Turns out that I slept with the best friend of the girl who owns the apartment, and said best friend was coming over to join in the festivities, an equation that adds up to me getting the polite "fuck off." Whatever. Their beer sucked, and I ended up at a better party with weed.
Final point: If you live in Richmond, you know of Belle Isle. You probably also know that it's a great place at night. Well, not anymore. There was a police raid, complete with-not making this up-a fucking helicopter. With a fucking Searchlight. I hadn't even had anything to drink. Had smoked two bowls, but nothing to drink. Good thing, too. I managed to sweet-talk the cops out of giving my friend and me a summons, but it still killed my buzz for the remainder of the night.
That is my life. Well, that and eagerly awaiting the third X-Men movie, which should be good even though they have yet to put Gambit in there. Hint, Hint, scriptwriters.
I chopped off the mohawk without taking any pictures, but it wasn't that great anyway. I apparently do not have a "mohawk friendly" skull. However, now I have a bizzarre buzz cut, which isn't a whole lot better.
I have set a new record. I was kicked out of a party in under twenty minutes, while sober, and without getting in a fight. Turns out that I slept with the best friend of the girl who owns the apartment, and said best friend was coming over to join in the festivities, an equation that adds up to me getting the polite "fuck off." Whatever. Their beer sucked, and I ended up at a better party with weed.
Final point: If you live in Richmond, you know of Belle Isle. You probably also know that it's a great place at night. Well, not anymore. There was a police raid, complete with-not making this up-a fucking helicopter. With a fucking Searchlight. I hadn't even had anything to drink. Had smoked two bowls, but nothing to drink. Good thing, too. I managed to sweet-talk the cops out of giving my friend and me a summons, but it still killed my buzz for the remainder of the night.
That is my life. Well, that and eagerly awaiting the third X-Men movie, which should be good even though they have yet to put Gambit in there. Hint, Hint, scriptwriters.
If anyone knows what I did last night, would you please tell me? I don't remember much except pissing on a car around twelve. I think cheese fries were involved. Other than that...blank slate.
JUNE 2009
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MAY 2009
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APRIL 2009
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MARCH 2009