a breakfast for losers...

I first wanted to be a teacher when I was kid. I was so unoriginal.

I have the most difficult time telling people that I want to write. Hell, I have a difficult time telling myself that. When people ask, "So, what do you want to be?" I just say, "I just want to be" and walk off. And they stare at me in astonishment, and exclaim, "Wow, she is so deep!"

Ha. No, I really joke, but annyhow.

I'm listening to a million sounds at once -- scratch, scritch, scrutch, followed by the squawking of a chicken. BAWK.

My mother thinks I'll get shot if I go to the city alone.

I hate friends who are busy. Go to hell, and send me a postcard while you are there.

this weeks plan:
hop on the bus.
kerplunk!

I went to the supermarket. I took pictures. I saw cows. Cows that conversed with apocalyptic tongues. They said, "One day she will be my hearse, and I will sway back and forth within the meats of her body as she walks on two legs!" I just smiled, and replied with, "No thank you."

tweet.

Sometimes I get bored . . .

Oh! Delightful soliloquies on this frightful night. I want to get out, I want to take flight. But we mustn't leave until the man upstairs knocks on our door exclaiming, "Come out, come out where ever you are!" And this is our time to wine and dine. Oh! How I hate to rhyme.

Who knew "door" and "are" could rhyme? I know I didn't.
Well. At least a bit of it rhymes.

but let us not forget . . .



Oh no, that does not say "WOD" it says "WOOL"