So, yeah, I wanna be a writer, but everything I puke out is either painfully contrived, has no plot, makes no fucking sense, is a bad idea, or is just bad. The movie industry is so in the tanks i'd be lucky to get a job printing out the spare scripts' cover pages. I despise high school with the burning intensity of a supernovae (that's a Big fucking Deal, alright?), I'm too lazy to even find a movie-related sad face, so I just found a panda I had on my computer for some reason, I can't find a job that doesn't involve tuna subs, my go-to music downloading site stopped working, Community's out of season, my computer won't stop blitzing out, I can't get goddamn Ke$ha out of my head, I have a three tests tomorrow, nobody in my house will shut up, and I am now almost fifty percent positive I have a personality disorder. That is, of course, besides the fact that I'm at that tender age when everybody in my fucking school is an asshole, girls won't shut up about prom or whatever, I just found out cracking your knuckles as I do causes arthritis, and The Libertines might be getting back together, but only if Pete Doherty doesn't OD at the last minute (seriously, that guy's a rock n' roll martyr without the late-twenties).
Will somebody please confirm for me that Go Ask Alice is not, in fact, a real diary?
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