This message is brought to you by the cute girl you picked up at the bar

It’s Sunday night. I have a load of homework that could fill up Ryan Seacrest’s undoubtedly expanded anal cavity. And no books to go with, just photocopies of the questions. So of course I’m looking at this fucking shit like a tranny trying to figure out which toilet to go into. Because hey, if that cute guy at the bar sees, it could ruin any hopes once he’s so wasted he doesn’t notice the adam’s apple or 5 o’clock shadow. Maybe this poor drunken guy’s future shame should send a clear message to the bookstore; “have e-fucking-nough books.”

Another thing that’s pissing me off tonight, laundry. My clothes should earn their trip to the washer. Prove to me you deserve a pass into the foamy clean haven. I want to see stains and obvious odor before I wash that shit. Fuck you shirt I wore for two hours. Show me that you paid your dues for that trip to the washer, bitch.

Oh yeah, one more thing. Those of you who know me have noticed "jello" often attached to my stuff online. So this random guy sends me an IM yesterday, and he was like, "do you wrestle in it?" "Wrestle in what?" "The jello." He was actually trying to hit on me with that shit! What kind of fucked up fucking white trash shit is that? Like i'm actually lacking enough self respect to go for that? What an asswratchet. Or to phrase it better for some of you, what a cumwookie.

-D