ll Pause: pay up, bitches

You may owe me $10. Here's why. He didn't notice. HOLLER!

Whassat?

It all started with an Anne Geddes journal that filled up and grew into volumes of murdered trees. These days I have a small audience and a driver's license that says I get to drink alcohol... which is pretty sweet. Oh, and better writing skillzzz, pinky swear.

Emphatic use of grammar and spelling as well as 99% filter-less crassity with strong opinions and salty language peppered over the bowl of sunshine and rainbows of my awesome, kid-less, atheist, herbavore, hipster-nerd wannabee (failure), egotist who isn't afraid of the interwebs or anonymous life is guaranteed. Come be my awesome new friend!

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

pay up, bitches

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