chunker blitzkrieg
don't tell me i've lost it. i really haven't. but i'm not quite a guy right now.
punk rock sucks.

bradley is a good or bad guy. i couldn't date him. we wanted to grow old together making movies about bastard buildings that trip over wires and fall on airplanes, because no one makes movies like that. the buildings would consist of anorexic teen girls who cut themselves in the bathrooms at school and the planes would be full of helpless old wintergreens who need their medication.

i saw this keychain that had a baby on it and said "ask me about my medication"
what a laugh, i tell ya what.

either way, the buildings would be real fuckin tall.

and in my movie, i'd be a giant leprechaun (or maybe a leopard. or a leper) with boots as big as the buildings, and i think i might be the one to kick over the buildings to make them trip over wires. i'll be as big as the ocean twice. or doubled. or something to that effect. i wish i were a giant leprechaun that nobody dared to shoot missiles at. i'd steal all the missiles in the world and eat them, or wear them as a belt, because i'm a punk rocker.



faux genuine missile belts, on sale for $36.99 at hot topic.




leprechauns should all get missile belts. for free.
because they're fucking leprechauns.

bradley wants to be malicemcdarkness mcsatanheels from the underworld and have glowing red eyes. he wants to rise from the earth and spit fire and shit, and that's kinda lame. i used to have horns, i never showed bradley. i don't want it up the butt.

i don't want your bad poetry.

hey!



loves,
me

p.s. an old, lifelong friend died yesterday. may his soul find happy rest in a new body or a new world.
rest in peace, bingo.