Operation 21

ok, ok. i know i am wearing the burfday thing out. but i want to and i can so you can either keep reading or go shove a spork up your left nostril. and then turn it.

yes.

so i left my cell phone in g'burg this whole week and by god, even though it made things a little stressful, it was liberating not to have that mother fucking thing near me. i love not answering my phone. especially when the person calling knows i'm there and just don't want to pick it up. it has nothing to do with who's calling, really, i am just a bastard and like to make things difficult.

seg-way..

and we're walking ...

in other situations, however, i try to make things as easy and painless as possible. but it never seems to work out that way. i want to type "ain't that a bitch" but i won't because i know i am sweating that movie WAY too hard. whatever, don't hate. lubricate.

transitional sentence...

lets talk about my sexual frustrations. uh huh. i'll admit it. maybe i do wish that i really did receive a "certain" burfday present from a "certain" couple of females in my inner circle... to accomplish a "certain" goal of mine. or maybe that article every single person on the planet is talking about (the beer goggle phenomenon thing) will help me out now that i can go out to the bar and pick up chicks.

no, i am not a lesbian...

stop picturing it...

while a bunch of us were at the wonderfully-established panda express on tuesday, after their amazingly competent employees got our meals wrong. a fuckin' hoopty wagon full of lesbians roll up into the parking lot and come in... all wearing the same outfit in different color combinations. you know... the boy-cargo-pant-shorts-hangin-off-of-their-asses and some ratty-old-too-tight-yellow-armpit-stained-t-shirt thing with a backpack with a rainbow patch on it. same thing with the hair-do. that i-am-trendy-and-cool-just-got-out-of-bed-and-chunkily-highlighted-my-greasy-hair-bleach-blond-shaved-in-the-back-bob, i believe it is called.

now don't get me wrong here. lesbians are great people. but dammit, sometimes they piss me off more than teenie-bopper sorostitutes do (no offense to anyone in that category... you go on with your bad selves). what is with this travelling in herds thing? and why the hell do you always hafta hit on me?

am i that butch?

that's my destiny. lesbians and tools.

one day i will find me a gheetar-playin-emo-love-song-writin-gorgeous-in-that-i-am-not-gorgeous-way-sarcastic-bastard-good-bowler-never-lets-me-win-but-i-still-kick-his-ass-sometimes-anyway-play-fightin-with-a-big-heart-and-a-wistful-dreaming-soul-who-understands-that-love-is-something-to-be-honored-and-a-relationship-is-a-choice-not-a-necessity-who-wants-a-girl-that-is-real-and-who-will-call-him-on-his-shit-and-who-will-always-call-me-on-mine.

damn.

that was good.

and wow. this was a long-ass post. bzzzzzzzz.