You are definitely a candy-ass.
Please solve your own candy-assery.
Vagina tastes like
OKAY TRUE STORY GET IN HERE IF YOU WANT TO HEAR SOME PERSONAL SHIT
ALL RIGHT SO I WAS WITH THIS DUDE RIGHT OKAY AND HE HAD THESE THINGS CALLED ARMY FOODS THAT WERE THESE PREPACKAGED PACKS OF PACKED PACKAGES AND IN ONE OF THEM THERE WAS THIS BREAD THING AND SOMETHING CALLED CHEESE SPREAD SO I PUT IT ON THE BREAD AND WAS ALL NO THIS TASTES TERRIBLE YOU KNOW WHAT THIS NEEDS MMM SYRUP GODDAMN THAT MESS WAS TERRIBLE SO I WAS ALL THIS JUST NEEDS SPRINKLES AND IT’LL BE PERFECT SO I SPRINKLED SOME SPRINKLES ON THAT SPRINKLE-LESS SHIT AND WHAT DO YOU KNOW IT ALMOST MADE ME GAG so I just ate some chips.
Are you there, Internet? It’s me, Tim.
I’ve been up for I don’t know how long because I was unable to sleep, so, here I am, drinking one of my many daily cups of tea. I think I literally drink about 3-4 cups of tea a day. One day, I will die of tea overdose, and all will be right in the world.
I’d be okay with dying from too much tea.
Anyway, I am unable to sleep because I have a clusterfuck of emotions running through my head right now, which mostly have to do with a realization that I had last night, which caused my little insomnia. Seriously, I’ve never just been unable to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about something, or, partly in this case, someone.
(One of my eyes looks like it’s gonna fall asleep.)
I want to get out of here. I don’t want to put trust in people. I want to lose touch with everyone, and start over. I want to act like a little whiny baby, move away to somewhere far, like New York, be able to take care of myself, and forget about my life in California.
This is a good picture. It illustrates my disdain for life very adequately.
It doesn’t matter how many people tell me they love me: I’ll just say it back, because I mean it, but continue to pretend that they’re someone else that I’ll never hear it from.
I’m okay with being alone.
I’m not okay with being alone.
Sometimes I look at where I am: Attending college, and driving, and eating coffee cakes and pretending to talk about the Stock Market, and wonder when I wasn’t ten years old anymore. It feels weird, to imagine that I’m an adult, because I sure as hell don’t feel like one. I don’t think I’m quite ready to do anything, but I want to get out of here already. People are annoying here. But then there are some who I… wouldn’t mind taking with me.
There are some smiles that you just never forget.
In short, once again, I ain’t doin’ too hot right now.
At least the tea is good.
End little girl post.
Take a look at your fallen brother who is currently still on the floor, looking like he just made love to a steamroller. Now, think for a second, and decide if you would like the same fate that befell him. Done thinking? Good.
You have two options.
1. You can stay in my kitchen, make it your lovely, lovely home and eventually meet the wrong end of my size 13 white K-Swiss tennis shoes, which is a great possibility because I am considering pulling an all-nighter of bug patrol. Don’t think it doesn’t bring me pleasure to see your puny faces fused into my kitchen tile. It gives me pleasure: I yearn for fresh blood, and yours is perfect.
2. You can crawl back through whatever hole led you to my kitchen and never step feeler in my home again. And you’d better leave fast, and not let me find out where you all are coming from, because I’ve got a few packs of firecrackers that say you’ll experience a living Hell that’ll feel like thirteen hadoukens and an atom bomb in your casas.
Now that I’ve said my part, I’m going to get my tea. If I see hair or hide, or, erm… What do you bugs have? Eh, it doesn’t matter: You won’t have it for long, I suppose. If I see thorax of any of you, I’m burning your hopes and your dreams.
There’s this guy who goes to my college. He has a mullet.
Let’s imagine he looks a little like this.
Okay, wait, no. Maybe a little more like this.
There we go. Anyway, so this guy, Mullet Boy, wears his mullet around campus pretty damn proudly. And one day, my girlfriend was telling me about how she and someone else were looking at him or something, in utter disgust of his incredibly long, incredibly unattractive mullet, while he thought they were checking him out.
Wait. Were they?
Doesn’t matter. Anyway, another day, Pancake (GF) and I were at lunch, and we saw him, and we were talking about him.
“Why does he have a mullet if he just tucks it into his shirt?” Pancake asked. I thought about it, because that’s a damn good question. If you had such a magnificent piece of ‘do like that, why not show it off to the world, and all of the adoring public? Then it hit me.
“… The mullet…”
“… It’s the source of his power.”
Think about it. He keeps the mullet, but tucks it into his shirt. Obviously, I’m not the first one to realize this, and he’s keeping it safe from his enemies. It made so much sense that I didn’t realize I was spilling my iced tea all over myself.
Also, I’m pretty sure Mullet Boy knew we were talking about him the whole time. We should have turned our megaphones off.