I was never the kind of person that made friends easily. I could never figure out why. Despite my efforts to be courteous and conscientious, my classmates and peers despised me. Because of this, I had always cherished the few friends I did have. For most people, losing a friend is no big deal...they have many more to fall back on. Not me. I had no one.|
When I first began school, I watched as the other kids buddied up with one another and shared their toys and art supplies. One girl had a supply that was to be envied. Crayons, colored pencils, paint (not those crappy watercolors, either), tracing paper, the works. I went up to her and asked if I could use some of her crayons. "No, no way," she replied in a haughty tone. It hurt. She had let all the other kids use her art supplies. What was wrong with me? Why was I not worthy? As these thoughts raced through my mind, a shy voice broke through. "She wouldn't let me use them, either. You can use mine."
Fiona was a small and imaginative girl who had moved to the United States from her native Ireland. She had a faint accent and a love of horses, castles, and anything medieval. So did I. As we drew pictures of castles, we talked about horses, and she invited me to a farm where she rode them after school. For the next three years, we went there often and dressed up as medieval princesses and had make-believe swordfights. We scripted plays and enacted them for our parents and anyone else who would watch. We practically lived in the woods in our own little world. She would show me pictures of Ireland and England, and the pristine images of the forests, lakes, and architecture have been etched in my mind since then. It has been my dream to see England since that day.
Fast-forward three years. During the summer, I took private french horn lessons at a church. One day, my instructor had to leave early, and I had an hour to kill until my mother could come and pick me up. I walked around the church, admiring the decor, when I came across another young girl. I asked her what she was up to and she said that she had a Bible study for an hour. I was never a religious person...I never believed in God, but she said I could come along with her to her study. I tagged along, and the girl asked the assistant instructor if it was okay for me to sit in, and she agreed.
Tanya also loved animals, and I introduced her to Fiona, and the three of us became tight. Tanya also loved to talk about ghosts and the supernatural. She claimed that her house was built on top of an Indian burial ground and that you could hear moaning in her basement. I never heard anything, but it did pique my interest in the occult. I spent years studying the supernatural and it is still a current interest for me. She would also tell me stories that her older brother had told her about an ex-girlfriend of his. She said that this girl (I believe her name was Charlotte, but I'm not sure) had lied to him and tried to make him look like a bad person. Her brother had attempted suicide twice and could try again at any time.
The three of us did everything together. We thought nothing would ever come between us.
Sixth grade: Tanya's family had gone to visit family members in Ohio and Fiona had seemed a little distant and testy for a while, and I finally asked her what was wrong. She told me that her family had decided to move back to Ireland in two months. I felt like my world was collapsing on top of me. This couldn't be! We couldn't be torn apart like this! After coming to terms with reality, the two of us spent all the time we had together. We tried to contact Tanya, but to no avail. Those were the fastest two months of my life. Fiona was gone. The next time I tried to call Tanya, I found that her phone number had been disconnected. I asked my mom to take me to her house to tell her, and when I went to the door, a different looking woman answered the door and said, "Nobody by that name lives here."
My two best friends in the world, gone. No way to contact them. Gone. I had never felt so alone. I wanted so desperately to have someone to talk to, someone to do things with, someone to take my pain away. That's when I met Shannon and Roger.
Shannon, Roger and I all loved heavy metal. We'd spend hours at each others' houses listening to Iron Maiden, Judas Priest and Guns N' Roses (hey, it was the early 90s!). Roger's parents had just been through a divorce, so he was in as much pain as I was. Shannon hated seeing us like that and said that there were ways to get around the pain.
One night while her parents weren't home (as if they ever were), Shannon threw a box of cigarettes on the floor and fetched a bottle of whiskey from the bar. Roger and I had heard all the anti-drug messages, but we were desperate to end this pain. We'd try anything. And we did. The nicotine and the alcohol made us happy and we were thrilled that we had found the answer to our suffering. Over the next three years, we tried just about every drug in the book and came to rely on them for our happiness. Shannon and Roger had alcohol to numb them (I didn't like it much after finding out that drinking too much of it made me extremely violent) and I had my various pills. Surprisingly, all the while, Roger and I had managed to maintain our straight-A status in school. We were never disruptive, never disobedient. We were the ones that slipped through the cracks. Shannon, on the other hand, had just about quit school altogether and ran away in the beginning of ninth grade. We have no idea where she went...she could be dead for all I know. It wouldn't surprise me. Roger moved away soon after. After seeing what had happened to Shannon, I decided that drugs weren't the key to happiness. I didn't want to be like her. I didn’t want to be weak, to have to rely on chemicals for my happiness. So I made up my mind not to be and I quit. It wasn't an easy path, but it was one I conquered. On my own.
My music became critical as to giving me self-worth. While at a practice, I met up with Jenn. She was a year older than me, but very mature for her age. We sat and talked, and she told me about her plans for getting into college and becoming an auto mechanic or a veterinarian. She asked about my plans and I told her that I didn't really have any. She told me that I had to 4 years to think about it, but the sooner, the better. She said that I didn't have time to waste. I gave a lot of thought as to my future, what I wanted to do with myself. I kept my grades up and got into my first-choice college. After she graduated and went away to school, we still kept in touch and she'd come back and visit us. Then, her house burned to the ground and she had to move to Michigan with her family. Haven't seen or heard from her since.
Enter Emily. She was a sweet-looking girl who had been hit by a car in front of her house and was on crutches for years. I actually don't remember how we met or how we really became friends (must have been the drugs...ugh), but we had everything in common. I helped her every day with carrying her books and stuff until my junior year in high school (her sophomore year), when she finally got off of crutches and could start living her life again. We went to concerts, went on road trips, and even went to Toronto, where we delighted in scaring the religious people in the room next to ours by whipping the walls and making sex noises all night. We went to Wal-Mart at 2am and almost got kicked out a few times for throwing those big plastic balls all over the toy section. We went to public places like malls dressed outlandishly and enjoyed the stares and whispers that surrounded us. Hey, we were in high school.
That's also the time that Joe moved to our school district. He was a punk with green hair, a leather jacket covered in patches, and the most caring demeanor. He was probably the nicest guy I've ever known. We became therapists for each other and we began to hang out. He ran with a different crowd for the most part (his best friend abhorred me), but he still liked me.
One Sunday night, we were all hanging out at Denny's, where Joe was showing us his new tattoo, and said that he planned on getting his other nipple pierced sometime that week. It started getting late, so we all departed for home and said we'd call around mid-week to start making plans for the following weekend. Wednesday night, I called Joe and no answer. No problem, he's just busy. Thursday night, same deal. This wasn't like him...I was a little concerned.
Friday morning. I was waiting for my mother to finish getting ready for work and I decided to flip through the paper in the meantime. Page 2: Obituaries. There was his name. I felt numb, emotionless. I read the article several times...it couldn't be him. There must be another person with that name, that's his age, that went to our high school. He had shot himself Wednesday night. No apparent reason.
Emily and I were shocked and angry. Why did this happen? Why did he do it? But there was nothing we could do except move on. Both of us went away to college and we still kept in touch and did things on the weekends. Then a few weeks ago, she announced that she is moving to San Francisco this summer. It's happened again.
But, I look back and realize that all of these losses have introduced me into new realms of life and have taught me important lessons. Fiona nurtured my imagination, which has been critical for me as a musician and a writer. Tanya's stories taught me that you can't trust people. There are rotten people who will turn on you in the blink of an eye. Shannon and Roger introduced me to the world of drugs and alcohol and showed me (unintentionally) that they are not the answer to life's problems. Jenn made me see that I did have a future and pushed me into the real world. It was time to grow up. I couldn't be a kid forever. Joe made me see the value of life and made me feel the devastation when it is taken away. Emily showed me that I can have fun without endangering myself or my future. She taught me to loosen up and have fun while you're young.
Sometimes I wish I did not have to experience the pain of losing all of my best friends. But I look and think, had I not lost them, would I have not gained new experiences? Would I not have explored new terrain? Where would I be without them? I can't honestly answer. But I am focusing on where I will go next. What lies ahead? Where will my next exploration lead me? Only time will tell.
Hey there little guy, look over there:|
I have, ever since January, been meaning to relate to you all about my Christmas vacation. I have continually put it off due to A: finding better things to write about, and B: I don’t particularly want to embarrass myself (I mean more then usual). This week, however, I figured I would finally break down and give you all the skinny. |
It seems that as I get older, I become more and more afraid of flying. When I was younger, flying never phased me. I am a transient soul, and the thrill of travel quelled any fear of death I had in me in regards to aircraft. These days, however, that phobia seems to be getting stronger and stronger. Oh, the thrill of travel still resides, but at this point, it seems in constant battle with the fear of flying. Thankfully, the thrill continually wins out.
My plane from Virginia to Kansas was due to depart at 7 AM in the morning. Mind you, 7 AM in the morning tends to be my bedtime, but I made it alright. Karen, whose mother is a pilot, has never flown commercial, and was constantly expressing worries and fears, mostly about me losing my luggage. I assured her that I have flown a lot of times, and have not once lost my luggage. I, on the other hand, was concerned about the size of the plane I would be on. I have had bad experiences in the past with little airports, as that usually entails little airplanes, which ALWAYS means big turbulence. She assured me that Newport News hosts a major international airport.
There were exactly four gates in the airport, and no plane seated over 12.
The flight was rough, to say the least.
But I got there in one piece.
I met up with my family. My grandparents, who are the cornerstone of the family and thus all family events revolve around them, live in an upscale retirement home. My grandparents are wealthy, well respected members of the community mind you; this was a nice place. And lucky for us, the retirement home had exactly two guest rooms housed in the basement; 30 bucks a night. My immediate family took both rooms.
The basement was sort of the recreation center of the retirement home. It housed storage, but also the arts and crafts room, a day room, a big dining room that had a 60+ inch TV, and an exercise room that had treadmills, weight machines, a sauna, a hot tub, all of that. What was great was that after about 10 PM, we pretty much had the run of the place (it is a common fact that nobody over 65 is able to stay awake past 10 PM). So while my mother and my 9 year old sister were asleep in their guest room, I would wander about, play around on the exercise equipment, drink beers and watch Conan O’Brian on the gigantor television, whatever I felt like doing. But the whole time, I kept eyeing that hot tub.
The week was pretty busy, though for the most part dull. I found the time to hang out with some old friends, but most of it was spent shuffling around to various familial locales and chatting with old people and less-old people that consider me a fuck up. Fair enough. Your normal family occasion. I had the most fun during the night, when I could drink beer freely and do whatever I liked around that retirement home.
And I kept eyeing that hot tub.
Finally, after about 4 days of this, I said to myself on Christmas night, “fuck it, I want a soak”. I didn’t have a bathing suit with me obviously, but I was drunk and it was nearly 3 AM, so that didn’t stop me. I wrapped a towel around my bare ass, grabbed a 12 pack of beer, and headed for the exercise room. I needed to unwind after a day spent opening box after box of sweaters and dress socks.
The area that housed the hot tub was actually three rooms combined. A room for the exercise equipment, a middle room for aerobics and whatnot, and then a room for the hot tub, sauna, and dressing rooms. The only door to the main hall of the basement was in the middle room, and that door was always open. The lights for these three rooms were shut off after 6, and the only windows to the hall, and thus the only source of light, were in the exercise room. So, I wandered in, set up the hot tub, laid my beer down, closed the door to the hall, took off my towel, stepped in the tub, and proceeded to relax.
It was great. I hadn’t been in a hot tub in awhile, so I was enjoying myself immensely, sipping beer and soaking in the warm jets.
I had been in the hot tub maybe 10 minutes when the door to the aerobics room opened.
Now, at night, there is one security guard, an old black man, who makes rounds maybe once every other hour. I had seen him leave the grounds not four minutes before I set out for the hot tub. But all of a sudden, there he was, in the other room, in plain site of the hot tub. I am not a complete fool, I had planned out my hot tub time for right after he had made his rounds, and I knew that on every other night, it would be a good two hours before he came back.
But apparently, 3 AM on the night of Christmas is a fan-fucking-tastic time for orientation of the new security guards.
So he opened the door, propped it open, flipped on the lights for the aerobics room, and proceeded to shuffle in the 5 other new security guards who were just starting out there. He was giving them a tour, I guess. The old security guard shot me a look, and then proceeded to walk around the aerobics room, giving the new guys tidbits of information about the place and the equipment, as they divided their attention between their mentor and the naked goon in the hot tub in the other room.
I sunk as low in the water as I possibly could.
Being caught in a place where you know you shouldn’t be is pretty embarrassing.
Getting caught naked in a hot tub at a retirement home with a 12 pack of Milwaukee’s Best is another animal entirely.
They didn’t openly acknowledge my presence at first, though it was painfully obvious they were all entirely aware that I was there. The old guard just continued his tour unabated. He showed them the aerobics room, then he went and turned on the lights of the exercise room and talked to them a bit about that.
Then he made his way to the Jacuzzi/sauna room.
At the doorway, he stopped. For the first time, he acknowledged me.
“Are you decent?” was all he asked.
“Ummmmmm. No.” I replied meekly.
He turned the lights on anyway.
I was fucked.
To my surprise however, he didn’t come over. He didn’t call the police. He didn’t lambast or make fun of me. He just continued his orientation.
He pointed out the hot tub without mentioning me to the other 5, he pointed out the sauna, he talked briefly about both, and he took the group into the locker rooms. Oh, they knew I was there. It was impossible not to. I was nude in the hot tub in the dead center of the room. They kept shooting me glances, chuckling under the breath, all that. But nobody said anything to or about me the whole time.
When he was finished with the orientation of the three exercise rooms, the veteran security guard shuffled the group of 5 new guys out of the room, turned off all the lights, and when the orientees were on their way down the hallway, he paused at the doorway and looked over at me.
“Merry Christmas” he said with a grin.
He closed the door behind him and went on his way, leaving me alone and red-faced.
I immediately jumped out of the hot tub, grabbed my towel and my beer, and spent the rest of the week locked in my guestroom.
After a few days, I was on my way home.
The plane ride back was hellish. Bad weather made for bad turbulence, and so during my 3-hour layover at Dulles, I spent most of my time in an airport bar. At some point, a homeless guy asked me for change while I was outside smoking. Instead I brought him inside and bought him a beer. I generally prefer buying booze for the homeless rather then giving them the money outright. You know, so they don’t spend the money on drugs. Just call me Redguard. I would like to tell you the man was honorable and just down on his luck and all that, but he was a fucking nutcase. In any case, a 5 dollar pint is the least I can do to help remedy the oppressive economic structure of our nation.
After an hour, I paid my tab, ignored the crazy homeless guy, and headed for my gate.
And BTW, I did indeed end up losing my luggage.
sorry for missing last week’s update BTW, in case anybody noticed.
You heard it here first ... no longer WastedPotential, it's now EDITOR WastedPotential! Welcome aboard WP. Step right this way ... Paint has a good practice piece for you: Jyates life story!! Your new keys to the Censorship and Conspiracy forums have been forged....|
Where The Day Takes You 1992|
Columbia Tristar Home Video
Directed by Marc Rocco (Dream A Little Dream, 1989; Murder In The First, 1994)
Written by Marc Rocco, Michael Hitchcock and Kurt Voss
Starring Dermot Mulroney, Balthazar Getty, Sean Astin, Ricki Lake, Will Smith, James LeGros, and Lara Flynn Boyle as main characters; an uncredited Kyle MacLachlan and Laura San Giacomo in smaller parts; and Peter Dobson, Adam Baldwin, Nancy McKeon, Alyssa Milano, David Arquette, Rachel Ticotin, and Stephen Tobolowsky in supporting roles (even after double-checking the credits, I’m sure I’ve missed someone).
For my first review, I’d like to take a short step back in time. That’s right, BnB is going to review a dreaded “old” movie. Though it’s not quite 10 years old, I know a few people here at the asylum that may watch it, anyway. I stumbled onto this little gem while theatre-hopping on a depressing, rainy Saturday when I was a senior in high school. This film was much overlooked when it was released, I think mainly do to a very poor title and catch phrase (damn studio-marketing execs!). With a title of “Where The Day Takes You”, and a short blurb of “No parents, no rules”, it’s not really a big surprise that it gets completely passed over on the video store shelf, as well. If they would just pick it up off the shelf, all the real movie fans out there would rent it just for its very strong cast.
Shot as a pseudo-romantic view of runaway life in Hollywood, with slight documentary undertones (don’t think Blair Witch, or I’ll sick Fred on you), this movie is an absolute diamond in a world of straight-to-video crap.
“What’s life on the street like King?”
“It’s not hard. It’s not easy, either. It just is.”
The story centers around King, a runaway who acts mostly as a big brother to his family of teen friends. King (Dermot Mulroney) is a bit of an enigma, himself. He doesn’t know his own age, and just got out of lockup for defending himself while being robbed by a bum, only to find out some things have gone astray in his 3 month absence from the streets. He almost acts as the conscience of this loosely-knit group, while still doing whatever it takes to make everyone as safe and comfortable as possible. The characters represent every stereotypical runaway, which if you’ve ever been around a group of runaways, you know is damn close to the truth. There’s an element from every facet of society: The big brother; the little sister; the abused; and the middle class who had it all and squandered it. Drugs, violence, prostitution, pimps, love, angst, tattoos--it’s all here.
Heather (Lara Flynn Boyle) is introduced early and is the newest addition to the little group. As with most of the group, she came to Hollywood to be a big shot movie star. You get to see her life unfold as they teach her how to survive on the street. Panhandling for change, struggling for food, protecting each other, entertaining themselves--anything they can do for free.
“You think you’re so smart King, tell me why I’m here”
“Why? 'Cause you don’t know, do ya?”
“'Cause it’s the same reason as everyone else . . .either your father molested you, or your step father did.”
“You’re an asshole. It wasn’t my father that fucked me. It was my brother. Shows how much you know.”
I really don’t want to give away much more, as this is such a strong screenplay; a powerful look at what life is like on the streets for teens. It did have what I felt was a somewhat manufactured “Hollywood” ending for dramatic purposes, only, but I highly recommend it to anyone. Those of you who have spent a bit a time on the streets will feel the sting more, as it all hits a bit too close to home.
I give this movie four tokes (out of five).
Sometimes it is hard to see the forest through all those "trees"...|
Good thing deer are herbivores.
I think I have figured this whole God-Satan thing out, but some of you might not like it. God is a dictatorial political usurper who stole cosmic power from Lucifer, the benign creator of all that was, is, and will be. We are innocent victims caught in a power struggle, ensconced in a propaganda matrix that would make H. J. Anslinger proud.
The whole Christian perspective on things never really made sense to me. Sure, I suppose I bought into it until Confirmation, but then I learned to think and something about the whole story just didn’t click. After watching Monty Python’s "Life of Brian" about 50 times in high school, I was convinced that things didn’t go down in the past the way the Bible says.
The two biggest sticking points for me were (1) the whole issue of evil and (2) the inconsistent personality of God. I suppose the existence of evil actually falls under the nature of God, but for this particular case, I am speaking more of God’s personality.
For example, why would a god who supposedly loves us so much put us through so much shit? Why would he demand such penance, sacrifice, and subservience from us? I always felt that for a perfect being, he sure had some ego issues unresolved.
And then the other day I was reading and thinking and just kind of letting things in my head roll around and all of a sudden I realized that it made a lot more sense if we recognized that God isn’t really what he says he is, but rather manipulates the media to stay in control and continue to extract tribute from us, the ignorant subjects. Kind of like Saddam Hussein in a way.
I started thinking more about it and realized that God must have seized power from Lucifer in a coup of sorts and has now instilled himself as the dictator of all there is, or at least all that Lucifer created. God sent down these messages announcing who he is and what the rules were going to be from now on. Most of the life on earth and other planets probably missed this message (but we don’t really know. He may have sent messages to all forms of life from algae to zebras.) As it were, the people on earth got the message, but didn’t make too much of it for a while until God sent a captured POW to earth as an act of war.
You see, Jesus was actually an agent of Satan who infiltrated heaven in an attempt to get inside to help force open the gates for the legions of Satan. Unfortunately, he got caught. (I’m guessing that he drank too much one night and said the wrong thing. God, being the tyrant that he is, commands incredible fear from his followers, so the guy who heard Jesus talking shit about this stuff went and tattled first thing. Actually even stuck Jesus with the bill at the bar they were drinking at.)
In an attempt to prove how ruthless he is and instill fear in the opposing army of Satan, he sent Jesus to earth and forced him to live the horrible life of humanity. Jesus, being one of the finest trained soldiers in Satan’s horde, knew what was going on and preaches Satan’s message of love, peace, and carnal pleasure to all who will listen. God can’t stand for this so he changes plans and had Jesus executed. Satan sent a few well placed informants to earth to help fan the coals of Jesus’s message, and almost was successful, but God’s PR machine got a hold of the story and spun it so that it looked like Jesus was not only a member of God’s team, but God’s own son! It was THE most successful PR campaign in the history of everything, akin to reformulating George Bush’s public image enough that people vote him in for President. We’re talking that big.
Taking it all back a bit farther, the best I can make of it goes like this:
Lucifer is the creator, plain and simple. He is not a perfect omniscient being like the Bible portrays God to be, but rather an extremely intelligent meta-force out seeing what he could do. He created everything and let it be. He created the world that we inhabit as well as the Astral Plain and the heavenly realms, where all the cosmic intellectuals hung out. He also built this super luxurious resort that he affectionately called "Hell," but more on that in a minute.
Lucifer loves everything and everyone, a total Zen dude. He is all about having fun and getting along. Do What Thou Wilt Shall be The Whole of The Law. He is pretty smart about everything and is able to make everyone happy enough, that thoughts of having someone else in charge never get entertained. Except by one pathetic bastard: God.
God and Lucifer were best friends, you see, only God was incredibly insecure about their friendship. His continuing jealousy of Lucifer’s power and popularity finally got the better of him and he struck. He duct-taped Lucifer from head to toe and sent him out with the trash. He told the heavenly masses that Lucifer had decided to take a vacation from the partying for a while and go hang out in Hell for a while. God explained that Lucifer was thinking of going on another creative binge like when he made the universe and needed some time alone to hammer out the details of what he wanted to do. In the meantime, Lucifer had asked God to look after things for awhile.
Now everyone knew that God and Lucifer were best of friends and accepted this story hook, line, and sinker. No one really noticed any difference in anything at first, but God was working behind the scenes to ensure his place at the head of the table was secure. He secretly formed an inner circle of protectors who were in on the secret. God dispatched a few of them to track down Lucifer’s body to make sure that he wouldn’t return. They found him lounging in Hell, basking in the known carnal pleasures. They set up camp around Hell and refused to let Lucifer out.
Lucifer didn’t really mind what was going on. He enjoyed the break from being the center of attention and it pleased him to see God having such a good time running things. But when God started changing the rules and exacting tribute from humanity, Lucifer tried to straighten things out. That’s when the shit hit the fan.
Lucifer finally gets pissed and starts to fight back, but it’s too late. Just as modern American proves, those who control the media outlets control the masses, and guess who had just released his magnum opus book of lies?
It was too late for Lucifer to do anything. God had been spreading falsehoods around and working his magic on everyone in such a way that he was pretty much invincible by that time. Lucifer knew that God’s weak point was his need for adulation from humanity so he tried to get the people’s opinion. Unfortunately for us, God controlled the media and was able to convince/ coerce/ scare humanity into believing his version.
Lucifer resigned himself to life in Hell. The two of them haven’t given up the struggle for humanity though. God wants us to worship him; Lucifer wants us to enjoy ourselves and wallow in carnal pleasure. God has portrayed Hell as a place of eternal suffering, but really it is just a place to hang out and be free to do what you want. I mean, how bad can it be if it is the ‘punishment’ for having sex?
They have reached a slight armistice in that if God can convince people to follow him, he gets to keep them. After all, he really isn’t forcing them to do anything, just convincing them that you should ignore your earthly desires and worship a deity who claims to be perfect in spite of obvious personal flaws. He agreed to let those that prefer Lucifer’s lifestyle retire at his resort, but he does everything he can to make them want to stay away.
This means that we can quit worrying about how to live. If you are happy worshipping God, keep up the good work. Nothing like have the ruler of the universe on your side. At the same time, though, don’t shy from fulfilling your desires. As long as you don’t overly impinge on others, you’ll make it to Hell eventually.
And boy, what a party we’ll have then! See (most of) you there.
When it all comes down to it, life is nothing more than a climb to the top, and a drop to the bottom, a ladder without steps.
Learn the ways of the world
Find out what it’s like to have new friends
Mix in with the others
Strive to succeed
Do your best
Set your goals
Pass all your courses
Remember the good times
Learn from your mistakes
Make things work
Take care of yourself
Manage what needs to be done
Do what you feel is right
Make your way into the job field
Make it on your own
Mingle with others
Keep in touch
Get involved in a relationship
Keep things together
Find yourself the perfect soulmate
Move into a two-story house
Swimming pool and two-car garage
Purchase a brand new car
Land yourself the job with the highest payout working shit hours
Cherish what you have
Keep things safe and secure
Raise them to the best of your abilities
Breakfast with eggs and bacon
Cereal on the floor
Keep relationships alive
Win the struggle
Proper care and management
You’re almost there
Hand your keys over to another
Keep it on track
A kiss at night
Read a good book now and then
Relax for a bit
Spend some time together
Things have never been so good….
THE WINNERS#1 Absolut Treason by Bondo#2 Dainty Bif Chicken by melon#3 Experiment Gone Bad by yours truly|
thank you, thank you *bows*, i feel so honored yet cheated at the same time.
Voting opens on 'Puffy' starting now, and it could be a tough decision as i think these are some of the best submissions yet.
So go on my children, VOTE and DISFIGURE.