So, I'm watching Wife Swap or whatever the show on CMT is called and lord almighty (oh, the irony of that statement) but this one woman (and her friends) are NUTS.
THE DRYER IS THE DEVIL! DEMON WORSHIPERS! MAY GOD SAVE YOUR SOUL!
Right now the woman is freaking out about the drums that are being played a a summer solstice celebration. Oh, and she thinks God talks to her on a regular basis. Later on in the show she's supposed to freak out and call herself a Jesus Warrior or something.
Really, what I wanna know is this: Who the fucked dropped all these people on their heads when they were young?
Side note: I bet most of these people have one hell of a reaction formation. Wonder what they're so in denial about ;)
EDIT: Crazy bitch, please. You're not a fucking Christian. You're a fanatic who uses religion as an excuse for coddling ignorance. You look to God to explain the hell that is your life; why don't you look to yourself. | |
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Yeah, so, if the fact that I'm installing the newest version of Civs on my computer at 11 at night isn't enough to prove my dork status, here's two more for the list:
1. Willem van Oranje. 'Nuff said.
2. Hey! That picture on the install screen looks like a mix between the Florence Baptistry and the Saint-Sernin is the Florence Cathedral (which looks remarkably like a mix between the Florence Baptistry and the Saint-Sernin!) DUDE!!!!
Oh yeah. I'm a card totin' member! EAT THAT! | |
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I DON'T WANNA!!!!
I DON'T WANNA!!!!
NO NO NO NO NO!!!!
*goes of to cry and scream some more*
I DON'T WANNA!!!! | |
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"Calculus sucks balls!"
Yes, kids, yes it does. Why, you ask? Because derivatives are the devil's...
Dude, there's a grown man hugging a catfish. And petting it. He looks like he's about to cry.
That, kids, is why you stay the fuck out of Oklahoma.
Anyways, what was I saying? Oh yes: derivatives are the devil's something-or-other. Yeah. | |
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But just for the record: the fire alarms going off for 5 minutes? Totally not necessary. The calculus homework got the message across, like, 20 minutes ago.
And another thing for the record: about the calculus homework? I totally didn't finish it--just to spite you.
And yes, it did make me feel better. So nyeh.
Oh, and the stupid tv show on right now? Cheaters or whatever? I totally know about your whole plan to brainwash humanity with that shite. Which is why I'm turning it off...now. Take that, bitch. | |
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I am. Really and truly. I am so sick of it, in fact, that I am SICK. OF. IT. That's how sick of it I am.
I don't want to fill out any more forms. I don't want to write any more essays. I don't want to address any more envelopes or print out any more letter of rec forms or order more transcripts or request test scores or do ANYTHING AT ALL related to college applications.
I mean, Jesus H. Christ! (with a switchblade in a handbag)! It would just be easier to give them my first born child!
Oh, and my jaw hurts and my lips are fucking chapped like it's going out of style. I think I'm going to go beat the shit out of something to take the edge off. | |
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You know that moment when you realize you're too late for something, and that it's all your fucking fault? Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?
Kinda makes me wish I'd gotten my act together sooner.
...I'm gonna go...do homework or something.... | |
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Title: 3 times dean let a demon escape (and the one time a demon let him)
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) burningamaranth
Summary: The title is fairly self-explanatory, me thinks.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke, the CW, and whoever else is involved in that whole enterprise. No copyright infringement intended.
Author’s Notes: Spoilers for episodes 2.36, 2.30, and 2.43, in that order. Oh, and there’s some commentary at the bottom (it’s rather long, and I figured most people would rather read the story as opposed to my ramblings).
( 3 times dean let a demon escape (and the one time a demon let him) ) | |
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...full of gastrointestinal fluid. Or at least, it's close to being filled with gastrointestinal fluid.
You see, I just submitted my application to Brown, and to be honest, I'm feeling kinda nausous. Which doesn't make any sense, 'cause it's done. Aren't you supposed to stress out about it before you get it done?
*Shrugs*
Oh well. I never really could do things in the right order anyways.
Oh, and all you bitches better pray for me every night. Or at least send postivie brain waves or something to the admissions people while they're reading my essay (hey, every little bit counts). | |
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HA! HAHA! You thought you could beat me, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU!?!
Well, you were wrong! WRONG, Monsieur Fly! I, the mammal with the opposable thumbs (and a fly swatter), have beaten you! Murdered you! MASSACRED YOU!!!!! And now? NOW!?! Now you float away to a watery grave, your corpse forever doomed to fester amoungst the piss and feces and sewer alligators that will slowly rend what is left of your body until there is nothing left to rend!!!
AHAHAHAHA!!!!!
*coughs*
...yeah. So. Those flies. Well, the one fly. What are you going to do about them, eh? I mean, really, they bring it upon themselves, what with them not allowing themselves to be squished by slow-moving tabbed dividers...or sucked up into the whirring air vent thingy...
You know, I did learn something from this experience: cold-blooded murder is something of a trial-and-error process. No, really, it is. It takes several attempts to get it right. For example, early tonight I tried to kill a moth, but only succeeding in scarring the poor thing for life. And then the whole 'it took 15 minutes to kill the fly' thing...it's trial-and-error. You get better every time. Next time, I'll be able to kill the damned fly in half the time (largely because I'm keeping the fly swatter in the hall right outside my room as opposed to downstairs...) | |
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