2003-09-26 - 10:06 a.m.
From Smoog (Sent by Gabriel)
I don't necessarily wish I didn't have a period. I just wish someone would beat me upside the head with a cricket bat, knock me unconscious, and wake me up after it was all over. To any man who's squirming right now -- just replace "menstruation" with "premature ejaculation" in your head and you should be fine. Or replace it with "big boobies". That might work too. Unless you're gay. Then you're fucked.
One of the most difficult things about being a healthy 26-year-old heterosexual female virgin like me is that I think about sex ALL. THE. DAMN. TIME.
I don't want to throw women's rights back 3 or 4 decades but I really think all feminists need to breed. Breeding feminists = more feminists and someday we will take over the world just like the Mexicans did Los Angeles.
Someone told me music is supposed to come from the heart, which was news to me because I usually get mine off of Kazaa.
I caught my whole wallet trying to call a social services abuse hotline the other day and I had to beat it up and lock it in a drawer.
From Iamaredhead (Sent by Lilith):
I feel I'm drifting farther and farther away from my friends, like this long tunnel, my hand is stretched out and so is there's, but no matter how far we reach we can't touch. I can't be saved... or perhaps I can't save them.
And I wonder why friendships have to be so complicated, and then I realize Iím paraphrasing Avril Lavigne, and I should just shut up.
From Esoterique (Sent by WVC):
I cry and cry, and that is the one constant as I grow along with my two maple trees. Ever will I patiently admire their grace, even to my dying day, if I be still here. And ever will their endurance send me to tears, because I have not the strength to stand, as they do, tirelessly, without respite, without error, without laughter and without tears.
The branches of the trees outside are like arms-long, green, graceful arms. Swaying and beckoning me to join them outside in their beautiful waltz of summer. Instead I am inside doing the shitty lambada of corporate work.
This body, this sack of meat. Sometimes I really wish I could unzip it, toss it aside (pathetic, crumpled and pink), and crawl into a new and improved version. Something with flames painted along the sides, maybe.
He is no longer my Achilles heel. A heel, yes, but neither Achilles' nor mine.
Oh, the desk he bought has a little metal mesh drawer! Super cute. I just want to hug it! But it's pokey and it would make me bleed.
Last night I met a direct descendant of Marie Antoinette. For real! Looked just like her, too, except with a head.
Never play horseshoes against a hillbilly.
Buddy Ebsen died. Last Monday, Buddy Hackett died. If your name is Buddy, I'd advise your changing it. In fact, I think I might have to change my buddy list to "artists formerly known as buddies," just to make sure I keep you guys safe.
I always thought the reason for a bathroom air freshener was to hide the fact that you were just in there squeezing the essence of evil out of your butt, not to make the next person who came in there think that the last person wiped their ass with a pastry. Wouldn't the best and only scent be "Turd-free Bathroom"?
When you flush the toilet, particles of whatever in the toilet (usually poop, I'd assume, but god knows what is in your toilet) can fly up to six feet away. This information has made me deeply reconsider where I keep my toothbrush.
The Blood of Christ had an excellent flavor, but I have to say Iíve had better Bodies of Christ; quite dry and stiff.