- MSN: firstname.lastname@example.org
- Twitter: @suavelyderanged
Good man. Bad boy. The one your mommy warned you about.
I did, however, once offer to marry a friend so she could get her green card. Full of contradictions. Simply how I roll.
Everything out of her mouth is a test. HOWEVER...If she falls down 3 flights of stairs and makes with the boo hoo hooing, it's likely NOT a shit test. Help her.
They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.
The one positive thing of people thinking you're weird is the freedom of actually being weird.
Who'm I kidding, I've never read a book. I can barely read my fucking tattoos.
If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh. Otherwise, they'll kill you.
You can't bluff math.
Some extra on One Tree Hill
Goddamnit, Preston, all you had to do was look her in the eye and lie.
No matter how pretty and smart you are, if you want the part, you've still got to audition.
Yeah, like I can keep track of all these things
You will soon witness a miracle.
Everybody has a starting point. It's how you finish that really matters.
It's not the trick, it's the magician.
The English language is my bitch. Or I can't speak it very well. Whatever.
I want to fill your mouth with so much come it'll look like your teeth are melting.
Andrew Dice Clay
Former triangle player for the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra, I found myself reluctantly forced to resign due to all the inherent pressures of battling for my position (having to sleep my way to the top), the constant and massive drug use and the hot and cold running groupies (think librarian by day, dominatrix by night); as I soon found myself overwhelmed by them. Now I live a much simpler life, of snorting rails off the toilet tanks of dive bars with toothless womenfolks and just wishing I could find Somebody who'll love me for me.
Or not. Whatever.
I DO, however, sorely miss the lucrative endorsement deals. Oh, you'd be surprised how much a triangle player in a major orchestra can rake in.
And now...I'm a mainstay on the professional hopscotch tour.
Welcome to my disbelief.
Do y'all have ANY idea how difficult it can be to reinvent yourself again and again and, yes, AGAIN at an age when pretty much everybody else is happy in their own skins? I sincerely hope you never do.
Since I'm going through the surprisingly lengthy and painful process of shedding some bad habits I've kinda outgrown whilst attempting to add me some new and improved ones (friends, too), I sometimes find myself with a great deal of free time; and, whilst I rarely (okay, pretty much never) have anything important to say, I'm going to say it anyway. I'll try to give y'all an Impressionist rendering of the Surreal world inside my pretty little head. Feel free to fire off SCATHING and venomous e-mails and comments telling me that I don't know what I'm talking about or merely to offer graphic suggestions, preferably those which are actually anatomically possible.
And, just in case any of y'all were wondering: boys that look like me don't need to use spell check; not that I, like, know HOW to or anything, so deal with it. I do.