blood fart

I think the drunk giant passed out finally. It's my vacation, I want ride like the wind. On a bike borrowed without permission from a rich white girl. I might circle the block infront of this graffiti groupie's house and let out some "ca caws" until she comes outside. Then I will goblin punch her in the soul for kicking us out of her apartment after inviting us to stay the night. She just wanted to ride our coat tails into the lime light. My boyfriend calls me bro. Probably because I am pretty dudical.

I make people sick. I am in some strange rich girl's guest house. She left without explanation. AS did everyone else. Left me to babysit the whiskey drunk man that is rolling around on the ground up in the loft. He is moaning in a not so good way. Sounds painful. He is a good friend, but I have no pity on him at this juncture in time. I have a sinking feeling that if he tries to walk down the stairs, he will fall. And then I will be left with the blame. Have to spend my vacation sitting in an ER in Houston. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds. I did horrible at trying to help him walk earlier. I give up. The fridge is filled with Sparks, Lone Star, and MadDog. I drink strawberry Fanta instead. Someone has to be the responsible one. I hate when it has to be me. This is super bo bo. In a serious way. Bike ride around Houston at 3 in the morning. Sounds good to me.

Re: girls I got into Dallas two nights ago. Visiting my dude. Walked into his apartment and was greeted with sweltering heat and an ungodly smell wafting from the kitchen. I help him take out bags of rotten trash. Then he asks me if I am hungry, if I want dinner. He gives me Cheetos and root beer. Wine and dine. It totally worked. I put on some Marvin Gaye-chopped ans skrewed edition. We totally kissed on the mouth. Vacations come in many forms. Love is pretty rad.

Re: girls Grown ass woman.

Re: girls I almost beat up a few girls last night. But I knew it would make me feel bad in the end. From what I hear, most girls can't take a punch. Glass jaws. So instead, I choked out the kid that was sitting infront of me in the car. He wasn't too upset about it. His girlfriend forbids him from hanging out with me. Now I see why.

cheese is my drug of choice. I have a pretty brutal hug habit as well.

Where you at son? You know where we are. We aren't the same without you. Come back, we miss you.

I wrote it in rhyme form, to stay true to my hiphop roots. I also drew a cartoon of you ripping my still-beating heart out of my chest and tossing it to the ground. Then when I when I bent down to pick it up, you stuck your man piece in my butt. The cartoon's final scene was me in a tub of warm water, slicing my wrists and crying tears of shame and despair. My mom laughed and said that you deserve a high five for accomplishing in one day what she has been working towards for 26 years.

Your words cut to the bone. I am going to go kill myself now. I will give you a shout out in the suicide note.

I don't really think about suicide. That is probably a mistake on my part.

I am no hero. I am but an underpaid Mexican servant girl who wants nothing more in life but to sleep in a pile of kittens. And some gold teeth. My life is actually really rad. Not depressing at all. Except for my job. See, the thing with cooking and cleaning and taking care of a family of five complete slobs, is that it is constant. These bastards wants meals on the daily. Sometimes two or three meals a day. And it's always with the dirty laundry. I always suggest that they each only get three pairs of clothes. And are only allowed one clothing change per three days. They don't go for that shit. My life basically rules.

Re: fucking hookers About a month ago, I was drinking in the park down the street from my house. An ugly white girl started yelling at me for propositioning her man. She called me a hooker and wanted to fight me about it. She smelled like poor people. I didn't want to fight her, because the stink of poverty is pretty hard to wash off your hands. She fractured my nose. I went back to the playscape to drink the rest of my beers. I ended up with poison ivy from head to toe that night. And passed out in some bushes next to a stream. I came home at 8am and snuck into the back yard to play it off like I had been passed out on the back porch all night. When I did drugs professionally, I often had dope/crack whores that would support me. They would do the dirty for money, and then spend it on me and hotel rooms for us to live in. I quit doing that though because they would want to cuddle while we were sleeping. Cuddling with dirty whores is a real crappy way to spend a night. Prostitutes are retarded. End of transmission.

I hear that to get into The Uniscorns BMX gang you have to have legend status and two written recommendations. And have a firece addiction to kittens and hugs. OWWWWWWWWWW!!!.

I wish. Some shit-bird ass-fuk motherfuker left a STACK of Cathy comics sitting in here. Knowing I would be cleaning up this room today. And knowing that the only thing in life that pisses me off more than Cathy comics, are self-proclaimed chocaholics. They normally go hand-in-hand though. Someone is taunting me. Since I don't know voodoo and can't cast spells to ruin lives, I do it my own way. For dinner tonight, these bastards are only getting soup. It lets them know that I am so angered, that they don't even deserve a proper dinner. Even though I did use fresh cut herbs from the garden, and corn on the cob that I grilled...still, they only get soup. That's right motherfukers, don't mess with me. I am a live wire. And to let them know that I mean buisness, no extra peaches in the cobbler for dessert. Man, they are going to be soooooooo sorry they made me mad. They are going to wish they had been nicer to me when I am gone. And that is not some thinly-veiled suicide refrence, I am totally going on vacation in two days.

Waste of time. I am over-rated.

I don't know where you live, but touching my lady parts has never been in style. I am a social outcast. And not too easy on the eyes. The Eastern-Eurpoean dude that lives behind me has a sweet mullet. I sneak looks at him through the fence. I often want to stand on a chair, so I can bask in his glory. But I don't want him to call the cops on me for peeping. They don't like the music I play while I tend my gardens. Nor do they like to speak English. I want to invite them over. For a feast. Of pleasures of the flesh. Working is my enemy.

I used to have a shirt that read, MY BOYFRIEND HAS GENITAL WARTS I would wear it to parties. Inevitably, I would get questioned about it. I am not too good with saying the right thing. I would always respond, "Yeah, he has the genital warts, but for some reason I only have the anal warts." Dudes would totally give me beers after that and try to touch my lady parts.

I tried to kill myself once. But like most everything else in life that I take on, I failed miserably. Now when I am down about life. I cut myself. And write poetry in my own blood. It is typically about being morbidly obese and lonely in the oh six. You really don't want to do the hot and heavy with me. I have herpes. And can't afford Valtrex.

After I finish working today I will, for you. My hairstyle=The Stairway To Heaven. Not on here though, it makes my heart sad to have to shield my stunning beauty from the masses. Meet me at the other place, after dark. I am a complete shit wreck. I don't really know what that fully entails, but it sounds like it sums me up pretty accurately. I occassionally drink too much and pee the bed. But only when I am spending the night at someone else's house. It is a sign of appreciation and gratitude. Ray of sunshine=kitten hugger extraordinaire with house wife status

If you knew my mom, you would want to drink away your sorrows and beat her up too. She is a goblin.

Only if you like to drink cheap whiskey and beat up a handicapped woman on crutches, while her two babies watch on in horror. And shoot heroin. Keep it real, or something.

As an addendum to my last post, I am a staunch advocate of suicide and abortion. More people should look into them. High Five.

One of my best friend's commited suicide less than a month ago. She had always been an enemy of life. Her mother prostituted her out for drugs when she was twelve, and she pretty much never got over that. She was found on her closet floor with men's neckties around her neck. They wanted to think it was murder. I like to believe it was not. It makes it alot easier to deal with when you know that it was thier choice. She was threatening suicide once, and was going for the cliche razor-blade-to-the-wrists bullshit. I told her that she should do something more original. So we took our half gallon of rot-gut whiskey and laid in the middle of the street, waiting to get run over by on-coming cars. Needless to say, no cars came and we just got super ripped and she forgot she wanted to die. Another one of my best friends hung himself off his back porch about a year and a half ago. I shed many buckets of whiskey-induced tears over that one. And made alot of enemies and mistakes trying to deal with my grief through alcohol. Point to this being, You probably don't want to be my best friend. It will make you want to kill yourself. My dad killed himself too. But that one didn't upset me at all. He was pretty much a complete bastard. And I probably would have ended up hating him in the long run.

Nere is pretty much a mythical creature. UniScorns forever, son.