Bored as hell and i wanna get ill:
Just sitting here with my belly churning, because i'm a female and my loins is burning.
Look, I'm a rapper.
Naw, just sitting here with my belly all aching and whining about all the work it does every month, preparing for that baby, that baby, that never-baby-ever or at least now not-baby. Sorry, baby baby. Nah, not sorry. Look I can barely be a wife and mother to Sloopy and he's a lot chiller than a real baby plus he never cries.
Sometimes this is what it's like: You're broke and so you pull out the credit card and go to Lucky. You know it's coming so you get your shit ready, and here's your grocery list:
1. chocholate chip/macadamia nut cookies
2. plain wrap ibuprofen
3. plain wrap kentucky bourbon
4. hippie pot pie
5. some other stuff i can't remember
6. oh yeah, we're out of toilet paper too
7. I should buy some hippie juice but it's too expensive
I'm glad I did it because now I'm able to call off my appointments and get in bed. I have a 2500 word piece due Monday, fuck, but I can't work right now. i'm supposed to go to a punk rock drummer's house today for a story too. But I can't do it.
can't even blog.