I sit around in my robe, drinking bottle after bottle of white wine. All my roommates are gone. I have no reason to wear pants. I do not wear pants. I do not wherepants. I do not 'ware pants.
Instead I sit, and I wait for my little wubblings to make their posts. I sit and I click refresh and I wait for my wubblings to bring me the pretties. Where have my pretties been? PoopSmack has brought me a video I already saw. I hate seeing videos I've seen already. Even if they are clever, creative, "ah, how droll" videos. Unless those videos are the first five minutes of the director's cut of Basic Instinct. In which case, PLAY AWAY. I'm sure Whofeckless is working on something as we speak. CUTTING IT A LITTLE CLOSE, EH BOAYS?
It's fine. Your One Hundred Days will end s(o)(o)n enough. I see it's become a bit of a prison sentence. Well, this is your own prison. That's right, Scott Stapp was singing about YOU. Find the boobs, Scotty, find 'em raw and find 'em true! And now I have to sit here, in my robe, typing as fast as Trader Joe's Chardonnay will allow. Why? BECAUSE I RUN BARTERTOWN.
Look at this guy....look at the books he reads....look at the words he uses...he's probably capable of writing lyrics.
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