*jonzoiplu

my cousin refers to me in third person because i am an omniscient narrator. only when i write. speaking of which, i think i am getting lazy, which means, becoming more industrious in those other practical veins in life, consisting of making money to pay for tuition to get a good job so i can invest in a nice portfolio of hedge-funds so i can choose my favorite method of euthanasia - marriage or monastic novelist or professional french-kissing gorilla! in other words, this is why i have not posted anything new - i am hogging it all.

i am reading books and identifying with characters. it makes me feel uncomfortable reading about shared crises. i feel more comfortable sitting in an empty parking lot reading in a car while listening to house music. i feel more comfortable plucking hairs from my armpits. i feel more comfortable wrapping my tongue around a frozen shank of yeti and making shishkabobs out of paperclips. just kidding.

i used to pluck my eyelashes out whenever my eyes got itchy. like when i'd pet my rabbit (which i was allergic to) and rub my eyes. i suggested this method on my brother and plucked an eyelash out for him, resulting in an exchange of fists - free trade agreement - and reducing his symptoms to general bodily pain. this happened when we were small and immature. years ago.

i am severely confused and cannot concentrate these days. i wish i could shift the reading frame of this fourth-dimensional mess a few years back and live in 80's and grow a mullet. my blue pen has a red cap. there is a girl wailing outside my window. she is not my mother nor my girlfriend nor my despot wife.

why is it so hard to defy literary entropy?

cat
dog
cat
dog
cat
dog
cat
dog
cat
hog
rat
the boy has cut his hair.



your fails.



in more interesting news, i caught my tutee plagiarizing (off wikipedia!) and killed a house centipede. what should i do? be creative. or just. erm, what would bog do?