Why is it that whenever I try to write something that's bouncing around in my head, it comes out wrong? I wanted to put in something silly for that thing- something along the lines of "And then I tried to slit my wrists with a Lady Bic like that girl in Empire Records. Couldn't even get that right."

*sigh* What, morbid? Me? Naw, shucks, Ah'm a-just a leetle tired, is all.

Cold pricklies, or what-have-you. That sort of thing.

You know, I never really wanted to be Thumbody. The very thought was always a little bit creepy, to me.

*introduces head to wall* This is the sort of thing that we try to discourage, children. Now, for fuck's sake, be happy. What am I paying myself for?

Right. I'm not. That might explain it.*

Gaaaaaaaahhh.

*They say you can't buy happiness- I guess I'll have to rent it! (...hire somebody to chew my food, what can I say? Waaaahhh, this is the life! ...) (Quick, name the reference, I'll give you a cookie! ...only I won't. But I would've! ...only I wouldn'tve. Aw, fergit it.)