"Dear old people, are you hearing this? If you want to save money on gas, stop driving. What the fuck are you doing living in LA anyway? And if you want cheap furniture, go to a garage sale. Everything about you looks like shit, so stop watching home makeover shows. If you want to see real design, check out the makeshift knife in your son's pants. Or the roach traps poor people make. Shit, just take a look at our living room. It's a thousand times nicer than yours, and we're broke."

can't get enough.

last night i threw bottles down dark alleyways, smoked hookahs with strawberry tobacco, drank about 3 longnecks, had sex, and kissed a man.

i feel like some sort of psycho punk

the other night i dreamed Kat had a penis, a big one too... with the head longer than the shaft.

when i die i want to have a funeral party and heaps of fuckloads of womens and gents will be invited to the party, and it can be in a graveryard and everyone can get completely fucked off their heads... but then after they slowly drift out of their hang-overish sleepiness in the morning they will feel insanely sad, (partly cos they're hung over) and start crying and realise that i'm dead.

i love max, he looks cool smoking a hookah.
who's sincere?

the purpose of the design of our organisms (and our sensory organs) is to block out as much of the universe as is nescessary for us to be able to concentrate on our earthly, survivalist tasks down here.

i remember a really shit party where reggae was playing and i sold some italian guys a gram of weed for 5 bucks less than what i bought it for. the italian guys were asking a girl in the toilets (in italian so she couldn't understand) if they could watch her urinate. some fuck asked me if i had speed and he had dry hands and a grating bogarn accent.

i hate my house and i love lockpicking... even though other people de-merit it with their wangness.

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