The world's a roller coaster and I am not strapped in.

Why did I post last night? I knew I was doing this today. Oh well. Kind of shitty day after a string of kind of shitty days this week. So I'm glad it's over. But I wrote some stuff and I got more ideas for this things that's been on hiatus a while. So that's good.

Title Source: "I Wish You Were Here" by Incubus. Not to be confused with Pink Floyd, though it's about as relaxing. I found the album today on sale at Borders. The things people don't want.


“What’s up?”
“Your mother. You?”
“Your face.”

“Yeah, that is a dumbcool idea.”

“They go together like peanut and buttsex.”

“It’s weird have a design on my skin that I know won’t come off with soap.”
“Right. It’s like AIDS.”
“That would be odd if AIDS came off with soap.”
“No. It would save hella people.”

“Sorry. Issues.”
“Hopefully not blind ones. Haha. Gay band joke.”

“He-Dad. Like He-Man. Just awesomer.”

“My mom thinks it’s far out that I’m portraying a whore.”

“No one is technically equal, because as humans we cannot grasp the concept of being the same as everyone else.”

“I’m a whore. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Oh my word, there is no way he will accept that. You are relying on the flawed assumption that Chevans is not a punitive, menopausal bitch.”

“What are you writing to be nosy?”
“Poetry to be honest.”

“It shows you have a sensitive side that you like to reveal in a creative way.”
“Sensitive like an emo kid and creative like a starving artist.”
“Sensitive like a human who feels things, and creative like an artist who is fortunate to have been brought up in a comfortable home but still is able to understand the plights of others and recognizes situations that invoke deep thought.”
“Don’t make me sound like someone important.”

“Revengeance!”

“Father Arrupe, report to the Dean’s office with a hot dog.”
“And don’t forget the sauerkraut.”

“Yes. I misplaced my pancreas.”

“Verbal violence is fine.”

“If I had a potato, I wouldn’t need sound effects.”

“If you were pretty, you wouldn’t need to go to an orgy because you could get some otherwise.”

“I bruise like a peach.”
“Well, I bruise like a rotten peach.”
“At least you don’t bruise like a rotten baby.”

“Wait, all the Romans moved to Utah?”

“Kylie, what words are you saying?!”

“Potato sex what?”

“[with wavey hand motions] I’M A MUSHROOM!”

“No communist masturbation.”

“Are you writing notes? Ooh, shame! What kind of notes?”
“They’re dirty underhanded notes.”
“…Well, this one is.”