Comin' in hot, ya heard me?

You know the band Hollywood Undead? I kinda love them. Their lyrics are ridiculous and slightly offensive, but I love them anyway. Just because.

Also I'd to share my hatred for all things that indicate a grade lower than my standards. It's my life goal to destroy them all and watch them weep with sorrow as I beat them into the ground. It's all very tragic, you see. If not, then we better take this outside (of the internet).

More people have been reading this, which kind of worries me, because I'm an angsty teen who is a disgrace to the English language and as no other language to turn to. And for that, I apologize, people whose eyes I am frying with the shamefullness that is my writing skill...s. Whatever.

On an off-note, my buddy attained a purple dinosaur on a leash. For me. To keep. His name is Alfred. Incidentally, I also possess a pet rock of the name of Alfred given to me by another friend of mine. I'm so popular (and attractive).

If you didn't know, I enjoy stuffed animals. Animales de peluche, for those of you who are pretentious Spanish speakers. Just kidding I'm one of those people even though I'm only in espanol dos. (I don't know how to do the tilde on this thing...or any other accent marks...don't judge me.) A lot. So much that it's kind of unhealthy, On the other hand, I have many other unhealthy obsessions so I suppose it's kind of the norm for me. Oh well. <insert sigh here>

Please have this list of stuffed animals that I own (and have named):

• Winks (AKA Winky because I was a stupid child and thought that was better than what the name tag said), a stuffed elephant from Barnes & Noble and my most prized possession, meaning if anyone were to do anything to him I would shank them in half of  a second then put salt in the wound the next half-second.
• Mr. Wuggles, an obsese, farting elephant that can't sing for some odd reason.
• Coco, a male Gorilla puppet with a pink tutu and red lipstick that I drew on with red Sharpie because I'm super cool. Like your mother. Word. (To your mother.)
• Apple, a pink monkey I acquired from New York that has freakishly long arms and legs because she's a rebel.
• Mr. Turtle, a turtle given to me by my cousin who recieved it by her brother/my other cousin as a gift. He's slightly torn but that's okay because that makes him endearing.
• Chiclet, a baby chicken in an egg because who doesn't like baby chickens in eggs?
• Tigger...who is Tigger...but like the old style of Tiger...and he's supposed to be for babies. I won him in a fifth grade auction because I was such a badass.

And other animals that I don't really care enough about to name. The sad part is that I'm not lying. The author of Oddkins would be ashamed of me. Oh and Toy Story. I guess.

Redundancy.

See previous posts for details?

Hi, my name is Lauren and I'm a terrible person. It's not nice to meet you. (See? Terrible.)

I like to think that all people have some sort of redeeming attribute that makes them unique as individuals. But I also like to think that everyone is some sort of terrible person in some way. Because we are.

Isa.

Go on, admit. You probably listen to some sort of terrible music that has no meaning and/or significant beat or lyrics. It's okay though, because likes and dislikes are quite subjective. But it doesn't change the fact that someone, somewhere, thinks that you're a terrible person because of your music tastes. But that's also okay, because most people suck anyway and you just learn to suck it up and take that unfit judgement like a man.

And if you're like me, whose music player is always blasting at full volume, then you're probably annoying the crap out of random bystanders when you're out and about in public. That means you're being annoying to one person or another, thus making you a terrible person. But that one person or another is a terrible person for even being annoyed, because it's your music, you should do what you want with it, right?

It's like a never ending cycle of terrible.

Dalawa.

Everyone's sense of humour is different from anyone else's despite the similar tastes of the concept of "funny" among groups of friends or colleagues. If you're like me and enjoy "anti-jokes", then you're probably a terrible person. It should be self explanatory.

"Knock knock!"

"Who's there?"

"The Gestapo!"

"What the bleep, you bleepin' bleep! My ancestors were killed by the Nazis!"

"Well, bleep."

See? Terrible.

Tatlo.

If you possess cellular device, it's highly likely that you either recieve or give out "forwarded messages" that say some bullbleep about God not loving you or that you're gonna die or you'll live alone for the rest of your life (which is probably true since you're a terrible person) if you don't keep the chain of fail going. While the whole matter itself is quite insignificant, the timing in which the message is recieved can be quite inconvenient. In other words, don't send me a god damn message about some stupid shit when I'm at an important dinner with my superiors and then I have to explain that if I don't resend these stupid chain mail things, then Yolanda or someone is going to kill me the next time I go to a bowling alley.

Apat.

If you like cauliflower, then you're a terrible person.

I don't care who you are, cauliflower is terrible and if you've consumed that albino broccoli wannabe, then you've just consumed a buttload of terrible.

JUST TERRIBLE.

Cinco.

You're reading this blog. And this blog is terrible. You are now terrible by association via blog in addition to being terrible in the first place. Good job, terrible person who's reading this. Good job.

Awww yeah.

Hiya.
So I just finished a family bonding trip with my parental units. We stayed in a cabin. Got locked out like a bunch of strays. Pisses me off. But it's cool, homies, for my superior intellect enabled me to calling the office in which we rented the cabin from.

Also it was all wood and I could hear everything that went on in that cabin. EVERYTHING.
Oh and I learned how to play pool/darts/air hockey. I predict a gambling addiction in my future.

Also also there were so many old people. So many wrinkles. And so slow. It was probably the slowest day of my life, seriously. But I also purchased some hipster glasses like a broski. Man, I'm such a pop culture fiend. I should go angst in a corner then drown in my own tears of despair.

Sigh. Oh, the woes of being a pop culture fiend. And a terrible person.
OH WELL.

Meh.

That is all.

Peace out homies. Word to your mother.

Elle-oh-elle-whut

I like having friends, I really do. One of my friends, Duncan, just happens to be a doucheface. Just kidding, he's super cool and I love that guy platonically. And recently, he keeps making this face that reminds my other friend, Hunter, of a duck pedophile or some sort of nonsensical variation:

Yup yup. Friends are great.

Shmowzow.

REASONS TO BE AN ASEXUAL HERMIT

Or "Reasons Why You're an Asexual Hermit."

(Part One.)

Let's face it, when life gives you lemons sometimes you just have to take those lemons raw in your eyeballs like a real man. But most people aren't willing to be manly, so all of the following usually happen. Or should, if you're a sissy girl who is constantly angsty (I used spell check and one of the suggestions was gangsta. Awwww yeah, dawg.) and has a blog oh wait.



Uno.

Go ahead, admit it. Your jokes are lame and unfunny and no one laughs at them, even when you try to awkwardly save them and pretend that they're funny. You're better off laughing to your lame jokes in the comfort of your own home where no one will judge you. Except your mother, you gives you food through a slot at the bottom of your bedroom door.

Why yes, I did suddenly get less tan. It's a trend, you see.



Dos.

Your love life is nonexistent. Telling yourself that maybe, one day, you too will find a beloved.WRONG. You're going to grow old and alone so might as well get started now.

I keep changing colors. Like a chameleon.

Tres.
Life just sucks.

So yup. That's all I'm willing to illustrate/grace you all with my beautiful drawings for now...c:

It's spring break but instead of partyin' and partyin' (yeah) with my homies I'm here. In my house. Writing/drawing a blog. I wish I had a life.

Peace out homies. Word to your mother.



PikACHOO

Hello friends whose names I don't know.

I has...sickness. And I feel gross and like a Filipino Ugly Betty.
Oh well.

It occurred to me that my entire life revolves around how well I do in school because I was so bored today.
And lonely.
So lonely.
I could've drowned in my own tears of sadness if I wasn't too busy hacking up a lung or wondering how there's still glitter on my body.

ON ANOTHER NOTE I was reminded that I hate blogs with a passion and now I'm wondering who I am in life.

Ugh. Blogs.
I hate them.
Yet I have them.
Oh, irony.
Meh. At least it's not as bad as Oedipus Rex. Man, that guy's life sucked. Hard. On bad lollipops.

OH FRIENDS IN REAL LIFE, HOW I MISS THEE...s.

Gasp my mother made spagetti.

Peace out homies. Word to your mother.

Bidoof

...is one of my favorite Pokemon.

Also I am sick. From all the glitter. I swear.
I tried to be like pikachu when I sneezed today and it failed terribly.

Also also I had a dream that I was a baby chicken hatching out of an egg, but I wasn't a real chicken, I was just dressed as one. A really fat, spherical chicken. The other chickens took me in as their own anyway. I got a cool chicken bro too. It was all pretty righteous.

Boopboop.
I don't really have anything to say.

Well

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Pi is quite easy
And so are you

JUST KIDDING
You're more than just a fling
not really


Peace out homies. Word to your mother.

Teach Me How to Frolic

Teach me how to frolic
Teach me teach me how to frolic
All the ponies want me
All the all the ponies want me
All the ponies want me
All the all the ponies want me
You ain't messin' with my unicorn

Or something like that.
Lyrics by my best friend 4EVA, Sethicus.
Our friendship consists of a wide variety of abuse. It's great, really.
I swear, he is like a magnet for estrogen. Yet he's always referred to as the creepy guy with long hair.
Oh well.

I'm not a magnet for estrogen, but my hair is just as long as his and I can be just as creepy! Perhaps it is because I am of the female persuasion. Le sigh. Oh, life.

Speaking of songs, I am required to make an education music video with a group and there's going to be a rap portion. Please take a gander:

Wave your arms from side to side.
Step back, mothaf*****, this is how we ride!
Forget this pansy, autotune crap.
Let me educate you with my righteous rap.

Do you fancy? Good. So do I.

I went to a party because I like to party harty and there was some major shhhhhhhh!eet goin' down (not really actually), man, for serious. But there was a unicorn cake so all was well.

Except there was an abundance of glitter. By the next day I felt like I could lactate/excrete/barf glitter because it was everywhere. By everywhere I mean that I think someone got glitter in my soda and I drank it. All. (I drank perhaps ten sodas. I can feel the diabetes flowing through my veins.)

Also hot tubbin' is a good time. But whenever I go hot tubbin' the temperature change makes me sick which is not a good time at all. Sadface.

SUBJECT CHANGE I like trading cards so I'm going to make some of my friends because I don't have a life yay.

Peace out homies. Word to your mother.

Boopadoop.

Hi my name is Lauren and I like to party harty to talk but not many who aren't close to me know this because I am a stereotypical, awkward teenaged female who just wants to be loved. Platonically and romantically, yay!

This blog is actually something I started to fuel my ego . . .mostly because I'm just so full of whatifs and maybes and perhaps(es?) that I like to think that someone somewhere will stumble upon this mediocre writing of mine and smile when he or she reads it. Oh and I'm just a nerd who doesn't have a life. Seriously.

Did I mention that I'm a disgrace to the English language? Because I am. Can you not tell already?

That is all.

Peace out homies. Word to your mother.