So I figured out how to put pictures up on my blog ("...and then, just when I thought I was blogged out, she pulled out this huge, miss piggy, double-barrel blogo and started bloggening me with it." heh heh heh. i don't think i'll ever get enough of that). Hence the picture in my last post and my profile pic. It should be noted that I realize the photo in my last post was a little obscure. One thing that you need to know about me is that I'm a cartoon freak. I Louvre all cartoons. Cartoons and british comedies. Have since I was un-born. So, if you didn't get my last pic, you and me is gonna have the problems, esse. Comprende?
[scott adjusts his hairnet, refastens the top button on his flannel shirt and brandishes his pistola, sideways, at su asno negro]
Just kidding. I still, like, like you. Not like like you. That's reserved for (did I mention she's hot and alto?) hot alto Emma. But we'll get to that later.
The profile pic was a doodle my besterestest friend in the whole world, Jenny, made of me yesterday in English Lit class. Isn't it great? Isn't she great? I love her. Not love love her. She's not that kind of friend. Seriously...she isn't.
Alright! I'm gonna take a break and just put an end to this right now. This isn't one of those romantic stories where the best friends grow up together and the girl kinda likes the guy and the guy is oblivious and he takes the hot, hot girl named Emma (hopety hope) to the homecoming dance instead of her, and then she shows up with his arch-enemy, looking gorgeous, and he suddenly sees her in a different light and they find themselves out on a terrace somewhere, perhaps the observatory where James Dean saw his tires getting slashed, and they look out at the city and stars and cry and finally realize that they are right for one-another afterall.
No!
Jenny has a moustache. I find that repulsive. I want to kiss...not floss.
We're not happening.
I'd blog her, though. (heh)
But she is my besterestest friend in the whole world. She gets me. If she was a little hotter, she'd be my soul mate. And by a little hotter, I mean...shaved regularly...but we'll get to that later.
I mean, I don't even floss when I'm supposed to. But, yeah...later.
So, yeah...I guess I'm doing better. I didn't have Butttoine today, but he did corner me in the guys' locker room and apologize for stabbing me in the FUCKING NECK. Well...he didn't apologize, as much as say, "Stuff still coming out your neck, Lanpier!?! No!?! Good! JeBEEZooS!" and then he threw some boxer shorts in my face and ran away. So that's alright, yeah?. He's been through a lot of stress lately and he had a cold that day so he was probably high on Robutussen. Anyway...I consider that a sorry.
And WWJD? J would D up some fo'givness fo'im. So I did. I D'd some forgivness...tar tar...on the grill of my Looooooooooooove!
Heh...sorry y'all. I'm a little giddy today. I realize I shoula been giddy the last time I wrote...but I wasn't. So I won't apologize. But I have some HUGE news. HUGEr than HUGhE Jackman when he was...you know...actually relevant and less homosexual. HUGEr than HUGhE Lorrey when he was...you know...actually funny...
...and less homosexual.
Hot alto Emma totally said. "I'll think about it," when I asked her to homecoming!
I am so fucking IN!
I can't wait to see what happens when she caves into me. Fuck that. She's already caved by saying that she'd think about it (when she told two others "no"). I just can't wait to see what the rest of our lives will be like (likety like like).
I see us holding hands through the rest of high school. We'll probably lose our virginity (yes...i'm a virgin...and proud of it!!!) on Prom night and then move on from there. We'll have a rough spot in college, because I want to go to William and Mary (go tribe!) to study literature in the footsteps of our founding fathers, and she'll want to go to Johns Hopkins to study pre-med in the footsteps of, I don't know, Nancy L. Craig? In college she'll be TOTALLY faithful to me. I mean...TOTALLY. And I'll be at her graduation, smiling, maybe crying (but not too fagilly), because I'm so proud of her. Then she'll go on to med school (where she'll continue to be faithful to me) while I hone my literary craft by living in a squat in London and experimenting, sexually (but not too fagilly). When I come back, she'll have set up a practice in Peoria, Illinois, and her vagina will still be as tight as Simon and Garfunkel harmonies.
And we'll live happily ever after.
That is, if she says "yes". Actually, what she should say is, "I've thought about it, and my answer is a resounding YES. In fact, I don't know why I balked in the first place. Maybe I was playing hard to get. Maybe I was intimidated by your masculine charms. Maybe I NEED TO HAVE MY BRAIN EATEN FOR TRAIPSING YOU ALONG LIKE A CHUMP!"
That's the answer she should give me. That's the only answer I deserve. I'll tell you what'll happen if she says "no". I won't eat her brain. That's so 7th grade. Instead, I'll suck the eye jelly out of her left peepin' ball so she has no depth perception. Then I'll take her to a 3-D movie and laugh at her because she's the only one not having fun. Then I'll saw off her tongue, make her eat it and, without respite, ask her how it tastes. Afterward, I'll sit her down and make her watch "Heroes", because...shit...ouch. And for the grand finale, I'll dress her up as "Dora the Explorer", huck her into a Doll-Fuckers Anonymous meeting and scream, "Here's your thirteenth step, bitches!" and run.
And then afterwards, maybe eat her brain.
So, yeah...I'm probably going stag for homecoming. I probably won't even go.
Fuck! I was feeling great before.
I wish I could kill myself.
Until bllrgghhhh.
flrrrm....
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