Second things second - I was walking to school/work today and there was a man walking adjacent to me, listening to a radio out of his back pocket. Unfortunately, he must have been completely schizophrenic, because the damn radio was freaking him out like Mr. Bungle when she farts and jumps around wondering what the noise was. And on that note...
Dear Eliza,
Your cat is a girl. Why did you call her "Mr. Bungle"?
*interrupted here by phone call FROM Eliza)*
Congratulations! I am ever so happy fer yooooo. (And also, holy shitballs!)
Love,
Connie Cobb
(cake cake cake cake)
Horseface, shovelface, pigfucker! To the go-go-mobile! NOW!
(Has anyone noticed that the whole entry went downhill after the note to Eliza? It turned into a bunch of fragmented jibberish. Hooray for fragmented jibberish!) But I do feel it is important to add another note to self, and that is: Self, please don't shake your groove thang for 30 minutes to "Boom, Boom, Baby Boom Boom" Euro Trash, when we all know you were supposed to be at work at noon and the only reason why you've lost it is because your roommate has left the building and you feel it is acceptable to dance like a frenzied rockstar. You are no rockstar, you are no stripper, so let's calm down and this shite stops here. (No- no! No! You aren't a rockstar, even if you mouth the words like you've hit the soul in the bridge -YOU ARE NO ROCKSTAR!)