It is exactly 6 days to NIN-Queens of the Stoneage concert, followed 2 days thereafter by UFC at "exactly" 10 on paper vieu--which is of course purposely misspelled, plz--WHICH will be locally viewed upon by the nameless myriads at a bar of sorts. My pseudonym shall provide me an edge their silhouettes shan't undull. All will be merry.

Ad interim, I was recently employed as a pretty penny collector FOR HIRE. Today--and by today I do mean yesterday--the council of Elders found me worthy to train at the heel of a honcho in the art of forklifting. A forklift never needs to alter it's direction, life-wise.

It's funny because looking back on it all, I started this journal by expressing something factual and readable (I am aware that there's nothing amusing herein.) S'pose I just felt like kickin' it up a notch. BAM

Also, RejectionGirl sipped herself some laced Red Bull last night. Some people just aren't paranoid enough. Drugs'll fix 'er. Friends don't let friends take drinks from friends with smirks who recently offerred ecstasy. Naturally, the offer was... REJECTED! Spoon! Concordantly, she was all fucked up at the bar and enjoyed touching things. Brains are nice but minds are better, methinks.

She was probably lucky she injested something resembling MDMA, for ecstasy rarely is. I wasn't there btw; dishpupil called earlier.

Meh.

"My hump. My hump, my hump my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump. My lovely lady lumps. My lovely lady lumps. My lovely lady lumps--in the back and in the front."

Poor girl. They always dancin' next to her.