Saturday, April 3, 2004

The National Anthem

Radiohead's still kicking my ass, after all this. I think they'll kick my ass for the rest of my natural born life. I'm such a die hard fan now, it's crazy. I'll be like, "Yippie ki-yay motherfucker" to everyone else. Just like Bruce Willis was like. Then when it's Die Hard: With a Vengence, I'll be blowin things to shit, still being rocked by Radiohead.

Ah, you people have to go to this thread, so I can further brainwash you to love Radiohead and bow to them and their greatness: Clicky here, yonder traveler, and step into the brain washer.

ACT test tomorrow. I'm gonna whip that thang into shreds, let me tell you.

I took the practice English test, and it was so laughable: I swear I aced it. I was even looking at some questions, going, "Why can't I just say omit this word here? It'd be better for the sentence. You don't need 'however' or 'therefore,' cause it just sounds terrible like that. Normal people don't write like that, and this piece obviously isn't for any style or anything." That practice test was so easy it made me want to do something harder. Ah well.

The math part doesn't look too bad, either. And math makes no sense to me whatsoever.

The ACT is a sad test that isn't even testing your knowledge. It just tests how fast you can fill in answers on a good level. It's not even about intelligence, it's about common sense and using it to overtopple a mean gnarling monster that's a test. Well, monster're are usually just lonesome creatures. I'll give the ACT company, and watch as its hideous hide turns into a lovely ball of fluff for me to rest under.

And if I don't do amazingly this first time around, I can just take it again. And the colleges'll love me like I'm their bastard child (I'm using the literal meaning for bastard here; look it up, loser).

I'll major in Creative Writing. I don't give a fuck if I can't get a job. It'll help me. It won't teach me many things new: but it'll make it easier to be published I hope. Who knows what I'll do though. Teaching Creative Writing sounds like it would be decent, but I dunno about teaching. I know that I could be an editor, though. I'm good at helping people with their writing: getting out annoying inconsistancies. Annoying nuances.

Plus it's just fun. Editing's actually pretty fun.

Anyway, gotta fly. Sleep becomes me. I'd kiss you but I'm in chains. I'd shake em off but they're full of rust. All I can say is I love ya, hopefully that's enough. I'm in too loving of a mood, it's crazy. . .but there's no one to direct the love at. So I'm directing it at a stupid text box. That's pretty funny, I think.

Hah! I leave you with the last thing there is to say: your mom.

Or maybe not.

Uh, I'll end it with: I'm tired. I'm going to bed. I'm going to fuck my bed, too. But who cares about that. Not you. Especially not Elmo or Barney the Dinosaur.

You people are such pervs. Reading this.


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