ON ACCEPTING THE FRENCH IDEA OF GENIUS:

They're like bumper stickers for my psyche.

lengthy, but somehow addictively bad for you. (also it might cause constipation).

I have nothing to say really, just thought I should update.

So, Mandie, what's up in your life?
Glad you asked, alter ego, I got my hair colored today, and now I look like strawberry shortcake. I do not, however, smell like strawberry shortcake, despite my wearing strawberry shortcake undies, which I purchased 3 to a pack from Family Dollar (apparently they had a close out on little fat girl husky unds, that's all I could come up with...they had like tons of them, all little girls, and all big enough to fit my grown up booty). Don't misunderstand, I don't smell bad (despite the speculations of you overenthusiastic bathers), just not like a scented doll baby. Right now I smell like toothpaste, clean face and hair color. My dog, well, he smells quite like a hampster (he's been under the bed, he smells like a drawer...don't you think hampsters smell like dresser drawers? It must be the cedar).
Anything else going on?
Well, I watched that bad "Jesus Christ: Vampire Hunter" movie. There was a musical number...it was lovely and ridiculous. Also I went on a small rant about Phil Spector, and how I think he should probebly be put in a box and poked with sticks. Plus I got new wallpaper on my computer.
How's your disfiguring craft injury?
Fine. Doesn't even hurt.
And your eye where Roy "accidentally" popped you one?
Fine. He got his, because he has blisters on his hands from gardening.
Any work on the novel?
No. I suck. (BTW Codename: Angel Charlie any feedback would be the cat's. Sorry it stops where it does...kinda coitus interruptus, eh...or really cuddlus interruptus, to be more exact.)
Now what?
I'm a goin ta bed, cause this puter is dumb and "I'm a tired a lookin at it."

Bless me lj for I have sinned, it's been like a month since my last confession, and so I will try to make up for it in record time by filling these here pages with useless none-senses and blabberfications.

Aw man, I got 8 holy craps and a bucket of fried gizzards. Shitty penance.

So...a string of curse words for your amusement...fucking shit hole cocksucking motherfucker assclown tit bag!


And trust me the long ass entry I wrote was much more amusing...but I don't have time to rethink it...it was in the moment, and the moment has passed.

ASSSSSS!

Fuck Roy! Ha hahahahha.

This is more than a week. Although it is also weak.
Beware the homonym.

"I'll give it a week, and that's if you're really interested!"

He's got a point. Yeah, I'm inconsistant...whatever. I've got the attention span of a small rodent...ooh, shiny thing, shiny thing, gotta touch it! Where was I?

Like Whitman sd (poet, not sampler), "Do I contradict myself? It's alright, I'm cool like that."

I mean who is gonna read this shite anyways? So, it's just for me, and I'll get bored of it soon enough. Mostly because I'll run out of things to say, or I'll simply forget about it. I forget about a lot of things.

Who is gonna read it? "Yo Momma" sz Roy, who is burping from the bathroom. Yeah, yeah. Itza stupid thing...most people's live journals read like sad, self-indulgant diaries. That's freaking lame. So, hopefully I'll avoid any verbal onanism, and supplement the lack with some verbal diarreah. (As I was getting lunch today a few cafeteria workers were discussing how to spell diarreah, I don't think I've spelled it right either, but at least I'm not serving lunch to folk while discussing it! Keep yer poop problems out of my turkey sandwich, bitches...such discussions really don't up my trust in the food prep.) Eh, buttever. Expect various and plentiful rantings, o thou nonexistant folk who run upon this. I mean it ain't like I'm advertising it..."Come see the monkey gurl! Fiddy cent for a peek at her hairy busoms!" Grrrr-arg.

There's yer disclaimer. I may keep this going for two weeks, just to spite him.