Note to self number three

February 15, 2006

Hi once again,

Macbeth and Shakespeare suck so I’m going to write myself another note. English sucks. So does everything else for that matter. You know why? Who cares why? It just does and that’s all that matters. Nothing matters. Nothing I do today will have any kind of impact on any aspect of the rest of my life- which hopefully won’t take too long because I’m filled with negative feelings and thoughts and, more importantly, I’m getting bored with it all. Oh well. At least I’m not from the Middle East. JIHAD!!!!
If I actually were from the Middle East though, I’d be a crunk-ass gangsta/terrorist and they’d call me “Profit the Prophet.”

I wish I was a turtle ‘cuz then I’d have a shell and I could hide in it and tell people to piss off and get off my shit. Or when it’s snowy outside I’ll hop into my shell and go sled riding. But then I’d probably get hit by a car and my shell would break. Cars are heavy and move fast. I hate cars. It’d probably be a woman that ran me over because women can never drive without killing something. Then I’d use my super powers to change into a nail and flatten that bitches tire. I would laugh so hard. In fact, if I were human and not a robot I’d probably cry tears of laughter because it’d be hella-funny.

The Chizz is right- I am a cerebral assassin. I’m able to get into peoples’ heads even when I’m not trying to. It’s a shame really. Sometimes I feel bad about being able to control people if I want to. It’s good to be able to see through people’s bullshit though. That’ll come in handy some day when some deceitful ho tries to use me for something. Dumb bitch. No wonder I’ll always be single- there aren’t any girls who can get past my bullshit-radar. Oh well. At least I’m not pregnant.

Being pregnant would suck. Nine months from now a fetus would come crawling out of my vagina. Ouchies. Oh man, I was in the butt-loving drive-thru last night at work and some ho came through. She ordered some crap but her damn kids were being loud-mouthed brats. So I told her I couldn’t hear her in such a tone that she turned around and shut her kids up. I was so proud. Little shits. I should have spit on them when they came by.

I’m getting more and more tired and thus I’m getting my second wave of energy.

I’m done.

Miserably yours,


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