And damn this vicodin itchiness.
This boygirl wants to spend all her money on me. Am I really that amazing? We've only met twice.
And what is it about the past two summers that I am so fucking self destructive and miserable?
Oh yeah. Fucking cunts. Mother fucking cunts. Fuck em.
And dude, working for one hour. Awesome. Not really.
I like to take lotsa pain killers and drink beer. Every night.
And where the fuck is my roommate? Dead? Maybe he's here actually. Doesn't mean he's not dead.
That's another one. Seriously. What is it about me?
And I just don't know what to do about this whole thing. This life thing. I mean really.
I need Angela so bad. The one no-fail.