I have six cans of Red Bull sitting beside me, and I plan to use them to my best advantage.
Currently, you're getting the best of me. But paper, what you don't know about me is that I start out slow, and end up like gangbusters. Crazy gangbusters. But gangbusters nonetheless. And sure, right now I'm two seconds away from snapping and packing all of my things, selling them on e-bay, using the money to buy a ticket to a third world country and joining a charitable organization, but I've been here before, and I haven't done it yet so I feel pretty confident that I won't this time.
Which can only mean your demise, oh you thing of evil, you.
And just because I've been working on you for weeks, doesn't mean that I get a free pass tonight. This is something I need to understand, deeply. Bruce Springsteen will help me to understand this if I play him on repeat over and over. I feel the truth of this conviction.
Furthermore, paper, you're ugly. And your mother dresses you funny, when she's not in bed with me, which is, I'd like to add, a not insignificant portion of the time. Sure, I'm poor, but your mother is cheap.
How do you like that, paper? Huh?
Welcome to the LJ, bitch. Booyah.