Getting tired of this ****.
Every ****ing day I wake up and head out the door, ducking like a cracked fiend from the sunlight as a I huddle into my 1999 Toyota Echo. After 12 or so hours I come home, and eat dinner that usually consists of some type of can in conjunction with some type of bottle of ketchup.
I lay down on my bed and peruse 20 second porn clips until I begin to frantically dry-hump my down pillow, and try not to start sobbing. Once I climax, I roll over and turn on my CD player, which is already set to the Fugees covering "No Woman, No Cry", and gently rub lotion all over my body.
The other day I had a dream that a bulldog was lunging at my balls, and I reached out to punch-him in the mouth. I woke myself up in pain realizing that I had punched the wall next to my bed, and popped my shoulder out of place. Couple that with my unhealthy obsession with 21 Jump Street, and we've got ourselves a winner.
