My laundry hamper officially bit the curb. The strong wires that once spiraled around the cylindrical basket are now sticking out everywhere, posing a threat to anyone that comes within a five foot radius of it. It looks like I attacked it with a push mower. Maybe I did. I get drunk a lot. So that’s no good; I don’t really know how to handle this situation. Not only do I use that hamper as a hamper, but also as a form of luggage when I go home. Plus it’s Kehly’s time out when she’s naughty.
My throat feels like I swallowed a lit cigarette.
Today was day two of poetry from hell in my creative writing workshop. I hate William Carlos Williams. I hate him. I want to shank him with a broken bottle. Too bad he’s already dead. Then again, thank god. Poetry can kiss my ass, and that’s a fact. To make it worse, we have to sit through 2 hours of that class watching this 35 year old woman try to sleep with our teacher. She’s a homo. I hate her also.
Manana is John “I want my sweet t-shirt back from that dirty whore” Madden’s birfday celebration in the form of multiple kegs and death by drug overdose. I can’t wait. Those kinds of parties are my favorite. I plan on getting borderline retarded, and by borderline I mean mentally. It’ll be a good time. Maybe I’ll take my pants off. We’ll see.
Other things on the agenda include a considerable amount of studying for yours truly. I have two tests on Tuesday, which isn’t the most pleasant thing to look forward to. I think I’ve drank myself retarded, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to retain information. I have no regrets.
I also have to sit down and have a talk with Kehly about how her drinking habits are becoming self-destructive. Did I say drinking? I meant eating. Everyone makes mistakes. Anyway, that’ll take years. I’ll probably sweat.
I’m off to do some shiv, folks. Keep it real.
“I am blind.”