Saturday, April 13, 2002

suddenly it's all clear

It has occurred to me today that the stupidest people I know (and they are astonishingly, staggeringly stupid) are the ones who have sex the most. And all the most intelligent, articulate people I know are virgins.

Someday a bigshot scientist will come out with a earth-shattering press release that sex makes you stupid, and I hope I'm still alive then to let him know that if he were a virgin, he'd have known that *years* ago.

Friday, April 12, 2002

between the blisters & the cramps...

Who must I kill to get a pair of rollerblades in this valley? WHO?!? Name the bastard, and I'll throw in his family for some crash gear.

While you're at it, tell me to who kill for keeping women away from wheel-related sports. Not that I want glittery pink skates, but shit on a shingle, do they make skate shops that *don't* look like boy's clubs?!?

Thursday, April 11, 2002

the prenup

Okay, Mr. Daylog, it's time to get a few things straight. How shall I put this, briefly.... you mah bitch.

I'm hardly in love with you. I never wanted a lj in the first place, but the buildup of mind-shattering prose in the back of my head has necessitated it. You won't be seeing me every day, and don't be surprised when I delete my account after a year or so. I won't be able to save the reams of lavish prose I've dumped in you, but then I've just thrown out all the crap I wrote in High School, cleaning out my closet; it's not like it's stuff I'll *want* to read, years from now.

So don't come running to me for attention and stickers; I don't even pamper my valid websites like that. You're my brain-dumpster, got it? Then we go our separate ways.

People:

Places:

Things: