Thursday, January 1, 2009

Post Fifty-Six.

Fuck bitches.
Get money.

You'll remember me when I'm dead.
You'll remember me when I move away.

'Cos son, there's no way you'll forget a kid like me.

New Year's was a blast. DDR and Pictionary for hours on end. Not a better way to go, methinks. Well, could've been a bit better. But, that's besides the point. I had a blast.

There were no jackals. There wasn't a fisting. And that gun was definitely not a penis. Neither was that squigly blob... don't ask.