Michelle and Shane say that I look like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, Where Are You?.
I see no resemblance. None at all.
The beard comes off tonight, though. It's itchy.
This excretion is marked with labels:
PD
Mephisto, Iblis, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Satan, whatever you call him, the devil is pretty much awesome. We've all met him at some point, whether you've been tempted to steal a cookie from the cookie jar or to extinguish a race from the earth using pointy sticks.
There's a big white board in my kitchen, on which my dad and his girlfriend write an on-going shopping list and to-do list. (Trust me, this is relevant.)
When I saw it this morning, there was a little doodle of a demon on it.
I'm not sure why, but I decided to draw a more elaborate devil.
It's life-size
Detail of the face, since the other picture is such crap.
I just thought I'd share with you this awesome picture.
You're welcome.
This excretion is marked with labels:
drawings
Honesty and I were jonesing for some tacos today in history, so after school we went to Taco Bell. To people living in Texas, the falseness of Taco Bell is laughable.
Honesty found weird slogans on the hot (not very hot) sauce packets.
She turned her head really quickly during this shot, so her hair flew out.
First up, the Fire sauce (high-mild by Texas standards).
At night the sporks pick on me. Ok, I can dig that. It's in a combination Taco Bell/KFC, so there are sporks, which are known for their arrogance.
Then Hot (locally called low-mild).
Ooh! Ooh! I call the glove compartment. Honesty speculates that this may reference the habit of people to store excess condiments in their glove compartments.
They were out of Medium, so next up is Mild (thick, red-coloured water).
The feeling is mutual. I can't make heads or tails of this one. I expressed no feeling toward this condiment packet, unless you call an observation of blandness a feeling. Apparently, this packet thinks that I, too, am bland.
Fuck you, Mild!
This excretion is marked with labels:
Honesty W
As I mentioned in the previous post, a bunch of us from my Spanish class went to a flea market a few days ago.
There were all sorts of ridiculous things for sale. David found this wrestler mask that was too small for his hair to fit in it.
I don't even think Steve (left) can see out of that one.
Cole constructed crude visual innuendos with food, garbage and flea market toys.
And Steve... did this.
But Joey bought the most awesome thing in the flea market:
The thing is made awfully flimsily for something that people are going to drop. The screen is now cracked.
Steve, Joey and I, as well as all the other Spanish 3 and 4 students at our school, went to a flea market the other day.
And, as usual, I saw something weird and just had to take pictures of it.
It's one of those temporary tattoo machines! Hell yes!
So, of course I bought one.
Victory was mine! For only fifty measly cents, I'd purchased a tattoo of the single most awesome children's cartoon nonsense ever!
So the next day in Spanish class, I picked a spot with little enough hair that the tattoo would stick.
I hastily stuck it to my belly with a wet napkin, but soon realised that I'd forgotten to read the directions before I stuck it to myself.
Was it 30 seconds or 30 minutes?
Whew! It was 30 seconds. And just look at that beauty!
Actually, I've never even heard of a Pokemon called Carnivine. What happened to good old Pikachu and Squirtle?
Screw you, Carnivinegay!
Vandalism is even better when it's on a person rather than a thing.
Quote Time
[Mr. Katz, a psychotic substitute teacher at my school, started yelling something toward my lunch table]
Mr. Katz: [incoherent babble] [something that sounds like "gonorrhoea"] [incoherent babble]
Me: What? Who has gonorrhoea?
Mr. Katz: You have gonorrhoea? Congratulations! [starts clapping] Join the club!
Me: [blank stare]
It should be noted that people usually only say "join the club" if they themselves are in "the club."
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