Josie is the Opposite of Hallelujah

I’m having a pretty awful friday night, which is odd because my fridays are usually spent getting plastered at your favorite hideout. I won’t care for washing too much of my laundry on this journal but then if i can’t say it here, when can i ever?
Anyway D and i got into a fight. Like a proper one, with yelling and name-calling and sulking in our respective rooms. Shit, i care for that boy so much and all he does is act like a fucking blow job. Yea you heard me right. It’s the latest ‘it’ phrase along with ’sick’. The former is pretty self-explanatory (I have come to the conclusiont that there’s really nothing worse than being called that with the exception of Giant Vagina, Teabagging Party, Testicular Insertion and Fallopian Juice) If you have any other creative suggestions, please leave a comment i’d be interested to hear.

So basically because I was too pissed off to leave the house, i got stuck at home doing random interweb trawling which wasn’t a bad thing til for some reason i got all nostalgic for really old music. Old like 5 years ago and not cliff richards please. Anyway so i stockpile the Taking Back Sunday and DC from Ian and like dig up the rest of the Senses Fail, Alk3 crap from my junkyard CD box and omg, the flood gates of bad memories come pouring through. Honestly, i’d rather kill myself than have to live through the ages of 14-18 again. I’ve had some fantastic times but holy crap, my teenage angst has a body count much? For now, as much as the quarter-life crisis bullshit is sucking the soul out of me, i’ll stick to being a grown up.

And since this entire entry has been nothing but crude language, i’ve decided to top it all off with even more bad taste:

Haw haw. Poor Silly Mister Stephen Hawking.