You wanna come to my house?
The house of PLAGUE?
One has the sniffles, one has strep throat, and I am still trying to cough up something that’s roughly the size of New Jersey.
My blog. My misery.
You want sunshine and bunnies, go somewhere else.
It’s noon and I think I might stay in my pajamas.
Go ahead, say something.
Give me a reason to pull out the handicapped card.
Don’t think I won’t.
Cause if there is something more pitiful than a chick crying into her wadded up kleenex, it’s a chick crying into her wadded up kleenex in her wheelchair.