cheapart

butthole.
i have had such a surreal last few days.
and i barely accomplished anything good.
i feel like cameron in ferris buellers day off, only i didnt eat pancreas or see mia sara in her undies.

i met some folks from electric pretendfriend time, and probably did very little to ensure actual friendship besides offer up a futon and a potential hot piss enema reality.

i missed a lot of targets today, too.
in a row.

so anyway, the cliff's notes go like this:
i act like im drunk? but im actually not, and i talk alot, and draw some stuff.
i eat indian food and then my butthole spits hot fire. i have a lot of guns and a sweet new crazy sas sweater.
i bought lanterns and worklights for photoshoots, but no white sheet like i originally planned. no bonfires, only dirty work. and thats what hurts the most. except for the other thing, that actually hurts the most, but this hurts the second most. ridiculous. the end.

also, get someone from the greater illadelph suburbs to say january in canada. them jawns is dooooooooooooooooooope.

uno out, and btw:
they pompoms, bitch.....