.atomic number 79.
We aim to look like Myspace prey.
The night is hours before the evening of the second fall full moon and a three hour epic set from the sexxxy Stanton Warriors. The theme of “I put that where??? giggle.giggle.laugh.squeal.” school girl was chosen by my wingmen for the night. Despite having all of the age inappropriate attire including converse with shiny laces; i feel lost in my attire and am doomed to shout the kitty of all people:
“Fuck off. I have not a stitch to wear.”
Dude, I am totally wicked and so epic you will want to know everything I saw, breath and shit.
I am a self-proclaimed failed blogger, three times over. A slack hacker of a writer that has been spewing grabage since the ripe age of seven.
Please do not ask how old I am in relation to how profound my writing style is. It doesn’t matter.
I am so American that I love America so much that I will only shit American in American shitters.
We are in the middle of a Presidential Puppet Electile Dysfunction Year. Currently, having recently defecting to the bright shiny Great North, I have found that my fellow Canadians are way too nice for their sunny lives and still love to drink huge gulping portions of Palin Hatorade.
I don’t h*te Sarah Palin; I just don’t want her telling me that the wayward ways of my vagina are contingent on her saying ‘approved’ and giving me the green light.
It is my vagina. I should own the property rights to that irridescent LED eco-friendly ‘green’ Green light, bitches.
Til next time suckas.