Treasure Planet. Best movie ever.

I take quizzes instead of tend to Macaroni!!!


What kind of porno would you star in?
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DEAR. GOD.


What Type Of Retro Gal Are You?
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Egads.


Which ArchAngel are you most like?
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Mmm. I look like some sort of sexy Ben Affleck thing.

While I should be studying for one of the ten thousand tests I have within the next three days, I find myself taking four hour naps, checking my e-mail (I don't know... DO I want to increase my penis size?), and staring at the ceiling.

This article has been recently brought to my attention. I want you to click that link and hurl yourself into a realm of entertainment never thought possible. Entertainment and, even moreso, confusion. It all comes down to the question that seems to follow Michael Jackson around wherever he goes... "What the fuck was he thinking?"

A pot of boiling water patiently awaiting to be devirginized by macaroni is calling for me downstairs. I must attend to it now.

God, where do I begin?

I saw 8 Mile on Friday. Fan-fuckin'-tastic stuff. My experience, while all-around delightful, was somewhat encroached on by a pudgy asian girl sitting next to me. We made it mere minutes before the movie, got great seats... I mean, something HAD to be wrong. And I was right. I sat next to the only person in the theater who decided it was absolutely necessary to raise her arms high in the air and clap every time Eminem said anything. I thought that was bad, but nothing could brace me for her head-bobbing and gang signing dance thing she did with her hands. You know what I mean. Yeah. That. Katie and I found ourselves looking over and laughing at the girl more than Eminem's wacky antics. Hooo boy.

Promptly upon my arrival at my house, I got sick. Four days later, I'm still gasping for air after having walked up one flight of stairs due to the one centimeter hole in my trachea I'm breathing through. (The rest of it is lined with deeee-lishus mucus)

I want everybody to make friendly with my new best friend, "Hormel Bacon Pieces". They aren't really pieces, though. They're bits. Bacon bits. Pieces are like those big strips you cook and eat, not little itsy portions that come packed in a jar. Anyway, while always having loved bacon bits, I never really realized how miraculous they were until recently. Now I put them on everything. Bagels... bagels... and... well, I haven't been eating much else lately. I find myself craving bacon bits at night. I eat this shit by the handful, and I'm not the least bit ashamed of it. After all, Hormel makes SPAM. Just look at how happy these people are. They have clearly just come back from the most miraculous SPAM hunt ever.

Lastly, Everyone should go here and spread the good word about this band. "I Wanna Marry Conan O'Brien" makes me weep with joy. Download it now and die. Er... OR die.

Zook.

So it's three o'clock AM on a Saturday night and naturally, I'm hungry. Well, I was hungry.

I made some interesting discoveries in the kitchen this evening. Earlier today, I was blessed enough to be given permission to order pizza, buffalo wings, and garlic bread from a little place called "Domino's". Well, I ate a decent fill of it and it burned my insides real good. I placed the leftovers in the fridge. I knew I'd be back for more. So about twenty minutes ago, I go downstairs to pick at the remaining rations. Buffalo wings are not good cold. I'm sure this is already common knowledge but I'm an idiot, so stay with me here. All of the meat has the distinct texture of tendon. What's more is that the "garlic sauce" that comes with the bread sticks turns to a solid when cold. It becomes a creepy butter that isn't all that bad on the breadstick, but you can definitely tell it's made of pure lard. Mmmmboy.

Judging by how much I ate, I should be dead in about ten, oh... fifteen minutes.

My dog ate a whole avocado today. It was spectacular.

Other than that, nothing. Went to the art supply store of the gods and drew some ugly crap. Woowee, I'm especially boring and irrelevent tonight. Perhaps I'll be more coherent tomorrow...

My artist biological clock is ticking. Artist... artist's biolig.... artistic biological... fuck it.

I feel the need to create art like a middle-aged woman feels the need to spawn dirty little satan-child. Or something. The urge to create comics and art is so great in me that I feel unless I do something about it quickly, all of my blood will explode in my body, which needless to say, would be really awesome.

Sleep, though. I need sleep. I have class in less than eight hours and I am freezing my poor little keester off. Did I spell that right?

I got two markers today. One of them is a mighty MAGNUM 44, which looks like it could give someone a coma simply by tapping them on their skull. When opened, the marker smells like death. I got a headache from the fumes.

I'll take a picture of the marker sometime after I scan pictures of the con and update my website and create art, which... god DAMN.

Halloween sucked. I went downtown with friend unit Stephanie and met up with other friend units to have "fun". The rest of the night was spent sitting on a bench next to a playground next to the beach watching most of the group gnaw on each other's faces, while Stephanie and I sat on a bench with a kid who kept whining about how he misses his girlfriend's tits. Then we walked for a fucking decade to "scare people", which is completely retarded since it's Halloween and no one is going to give a shit if a bunch of teenagers are wearing excessive amounts of black makeup. I ate some KFC potatoes and gravy and corn back at my house with Stephanie and then we sat. It was a team effort to shoot this Halloween to hell.

Moral of the story: Don't hang out with anyone in high school.