Friday, October 07, 2005

hello moto

my cell phone loves the south side and it is super pissed that i moved it on up to the west side which is really the northwest side but i refuse to admit i live on anything with the word north in it because i hate the north side and now my cell phone thinks it's fucking hilarious dropping all my calls which it never did before but on the west side i have a porch so i can sit out there and talk on the phone all i want so HA HA CELL PHONE I WIN. and my cell phone is like HA HA ERIN, IT IS I THAT WIN because you are getting cancer sitting on the porch and smoking ten million cigarettes and you are going to DIE. why the fuck does my cell phone want to kill me?

oh yeah, probably because i talked on it for like three hours last night about rave parties and 45s and anonymous tricks. did you know that my friends voted me most likely to bring an anonymous trick to the prom? like i would really be going to a prom. i went to a homecoming once with bj armstrong's cousin but i was totally tricked into going and i got some black sleeveless t shirt dress thing at the salvation army and i want to say i wore shell toes but i bleached my hair for it and i did give the guy one of those flower things you're supposed to give them even though i didn't know about those things until the last minute and i had to create it out of my best friend's backyard. bj armstrong's cousin was totally boring and i only stayed for like 20 minutes and i left with a different guy than i came with. so i guess i should have actually been voted most likely to leave prom with a different anonymous trick than she came with. ex girl to next girl.

i live down the street from a cigarette store that is called cigaretteville and the old indian guy that works there thinks i smoke american spirits every time i go in there. hello do i look like a fucking hipster to you? no. i eat hipsters for breakfast. i'm drawing a picture right now of me eating a blowl of hipsters and i'm stuffing my face with them and the tiny hipsters in the spoon are screaming and i have blood on my mouth. it's going to be beautiful. at cigaretteville they always ask me if i am sure i am over 18. uh, i'm pretty sure if i was one of those freak children that get pregnant by their dads at the age of 8 that my inbred freak of a child would be 18 by now. or, like, 16 or something.

random thought post = want to write about something else but am saving it.
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