Ta da!

Presenting to you...

the hottest...

sexiest...

lustiest...

passion novel of this day and age:

Heaving Bosoms

Bosoms will heave and pants will rise!

Read it here:

http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2161864

You Are Most Like Samantha!

For you, dating is the ultimate sportYou're into guys with power, looks, or a lot of money.You rather have a great two weeks than a great forever.But even you fall victim to love from time to time. :-) Romantic prediction: You'll find love in the next few months... But you'll be the last one to realize it.

Which Sex and the City Vixen are you?

http://ynr.blogthings.com/whichsexandthecityvixenareyouquiz/

Bitch Librarian

From the Bleed My Heart Drys:
Presenting.........

BITCH LIBRARIAN

You need to get laid
You anal bitch!
I will go rape you
and then kill you
and then wrap your body in a black bag
and then stuff it in a cave!!!

Chorus:
Bitch Librarian!!! (x3)
The B in librarian stands for bitch!!!
Cuz that's who you are!!!

Can I grab your ass?
Or will I be smothered by it?

Fuck fuck fuck you
You bitch!
Bitch Librarian!

See this dagger?
It will go throughyour heart
or do you not have one
like me?!?!?!?!

Choo choo trains go choo
Stab stab my dagger goes stab
Rip rip my heart goes rip
Slit slit my razor slits.

DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want you dead
more than I want myself
dead!!!

(random screaming)

ROARWA!!!!!
HROHARRRRA!!!!!

WHO LET THE BITCH OUT??????


Thanks for supporting our work, you wondeful fans! Come out to see us whenever we have a show! I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile, I just have to thank From First to Last's Kiss Me I'm Contagious--our inspiration.


P.S.
I got a Gold Key!!! Whoo! I totally wasn't expecting that from the writing competition. I'm just crossing my fingers now for the national competition.

Alright!
Chapter Thirteen of Land of Red (my sentimental outlet) is updated and online!
Here it is, for anyone who follows it.

No title. Is that fucking okay?

Alright, so when did everyone in the world get together and decide that not being nice to M is okay? It's alright to step all over her. It's perfectly acceptable to insult her and not apologize. Oh, ruin her self esteem. She's too egotistical anyways.

You know what? No. I'm not. It's a front, in case no one saw. Yes, I like myself, yes, I don't think I'm completely worthless, but that doesn't mean I don't have insecurities. I hate my thighs. I hate the way I garble out keys when I sing. I hate that I'm no good at Spanish. I hate how I have hair on my fucking fingers. I hate my cheeks. I hate my personality. I hate my inability to show that I'm hurt unless in private (or when I'm experiencing a brief sentimental moment with my absolute closest friends). I hate, hate, hate most things about myself. But of course, hardly anyone knows that. It's my own damn fault, too. I never tell people I'm upset, and when I do, hardly anyone ever takes me seriously.

"Oh, it's only M. She'll get over it."

Yeah, I laugh when you insult me. But do I think it's funny? No. I don't want to laugh, but that's just my personality. I'm genetically engineered to constantly keep a smile on my face. I can't confront people. I hate confrontations. My last confrontation was with a guy in my math class who pissed me off. I told him I wanted to screw his head off, cut him to bits with a saw, then set his remains on fire. He laughed. I mean, when someone wants to do another that much violence, you'd think there's something seriously wrong with the relationship.

And then there're the people out there who tell me I'm stupid. "M, you're so dumb." "Omg, just slap yourself now and save me the trouble." "How does anyone not know that? You're so retarded." "God, you're so /stupid/."

Fuck you. Fuck all of you. All I want is for people to like me. I want people to see that just because I make stupid comments sometimes, it doesn't mean I'm of a lesser intelligence. It doesn't mean I don't have feelings. If you prick me do I not bleed? You know what? Fuck Shakespeare. Fuck all of you.

Skateboard Kid

A writer's the medium that translates the poetry of life into print. To be such a translator, the writer must be familiar with both languages. The language of the written word is easy to master. Anyone can do it with a little bit of effort. It is the language of Life that presents the difficulty. How does the writer learn this vague, chimerical language? It's by observing.
To observe is to practice an art form. Everyone is self centered, yet observing and recording what one sees is a very selfless act. So that is why to play the spectator, to step out of one's shoes and move into others, to acknowledge but not experience it is hard to achieve.

I guess that is why I have decided to write about Skateboard Kid: to practice this art.
Skateboard Kid is in the apartment parking lot with his skateboard very afternoon around four without fail. Most days, he wears a thin sweater with a collared shirt beneath. On windy days, his wavy black hair flops back and forth--sometimes blowing over his eyes, sometimes straining back. Jumping on his skateboard, he will halfheartedly attempt a trick, mess up, roll around the parking lot, try a trick, then mess up again. He has never gotten any better since the first day. There's no improvement, but he keeps trying. Everyday at four, I'll see him with his skateboard. Sometimes his hair will blow. Most times he'll wear a sweater.



(I feel hypocritical, writing about selflessness on a blog named Narcissistic Rantings.)

Tee hee.

I got a new haircut today. Hahahaha, only I will ever get what that means.
In other news, I took a quiz. I got my favorite color. Yay!

You Are Emerald Green

Deep and mysterious, it often seems like no one truly gets you. Inside, you are very emotional and moody - though you don't let it show. People usually have a strong reaction to you... profound love or deep hate. But you can even get those who hate you to come around. There's something naturally harmonious about you.

What Color Green Are You?

Woman Once a Bird

I'm looking at a feather fluttering in the wind. The perfect individual strands are dancing to the force that pushes it. Somehow, this makes me more sad than I can describe. This feather once took flight on the wing of a bird. Now, it's retired.

eltiT

So, it kinda stopped raining, so I took down my 'Rain on me' template. Goodbye, goodbye. It's out with the new and back with the old.

Sup.

Here's a new game I learned. You take the song you're listening to currently, and add the words 'in my pants' to it. So, for me now, it'd be:
Ruthless in my pants.

It's a great game for bored perverts.

Die.

School tomorrow. The end of spring break is in fifteen minutes. Dammit.

Lifetime Lessons

Here's a lesson, loves. Cigarettes + vodka + brandy + cavorting in the rain is not a brilliant notion unless you have the ambition to have a partial blackout, throw up for hours, then gag in your mouth for another few hours.

Another lesson to be observed:
Store clerks will not sell you cigarettes if you don't have ID. Neither will they budge if you're reduced to lying or begging. Isn't it nice to know that our federal law is so rigidly in practice? It's enough to make any good American feel proud.

Fuck

Alright, so Ambition due date is tomorrow. What do I have done? 1 1/12 of a chapter. How much did I need to have done? 18 chapters. If I could not talk to myself, I would. God, I honestly have never been so disappointed in myself.

Inspiration

C and I became inspired again on the bus. We now have a new song to put in our album, which we've decided to title "Dear Livejournal, My Teen Angst". The new song is called "Bitch Librarian" and the lyrics will be released here shortly. In the meantime, I thought it'd be appropriate to give you the lyrics to the song that gave us our inspiration.

Kiss Me I'm Contagious

By From First to Last

i break hearts like the west was won

(they call me the rattlesnake)

im hung like an outlaw baby

(like an outlaw baby)

play poker all day at the saloon

(you cheating bastard)

ill get you in the saddle soon, oh yeah

*chorus*

we wont back down

(bang bang guns go bang)

from a fight

(bang bang guns go bang)

90 paces west

(bang bang guns go bang)

at noon we draw to death we draw to death (x 4)

oh yeahthere was a man from way back west

(desperado aint got shit on me)

he took 12 rounds straight to the chest

(thats two six-shooters to be exact)

at night the town lays awake

(with their eyes wide open)

in terror of the rattlesnakei bite it but i dont light it

(this town aint big enough for the both of us)

ill use the rope and ill ride hertwo barrels and a whole lot of bang

and when im down with it this town will never be the same

*chorus*

can i touch your legs?do i make you sweat?(x6)

I started ******* ****** when I was ten.

Everyone has a secret. What's yours?

Postsecret.