I feel lost. I am not looking forward to the next four years, at least in one or two ways. 

This election is really frying my brain, writing-wise. when I should be concentrating on my words I find myself drawn back to the results charts.
 As I click around the map of states, it really touches me that Ohio, as of this moment, has one of the higher voter turn-out numbers.
 It's a touchy subject and sure, I want Bush's evil flushed out of the White House, but damnit! I love that so many have just gone out and voted!! And if you want to agrue a point, only do so if you are one of those people who cast their ballots today. I shall hold no friendly duel with a non-voter as your say holds little importance and no worth whatsoever. Your chance to be heard has passed. Hopefully, in four years you will have come to learn the importance of suffrage.
 I am tired and procrastinating badly but I cannot stop my mind from wondering who the next president will be.
 Another note: for all those who voted YES on issue 1; If you are a heterosexual male who voted to pass this amendment AND you like lesbian porn I think you should FUCK OFF, you are as EVIL as Mr. 'Dubya' :P!! Who cares what damned religion you are and who cares if you are homophobic, if you want to sit around and jack off to a couple of lesbians going at it but you MAKE IT A LAW, a law that is decidedly too CHRISTIAN for this country of divided church/state, that two lesbians and/or gays cannot marry in a legal, sacred union and be recognized by the NON-RELIGIOUS affliate state you are some kind of bigot and you have a very grievous double-standard.
 I know my rant may offend some and I refuse to apologize to anyone. Especially since I VOTED AND ACHIEVED THE RIGHT TO PISS AND MOAN!! I did what I could and that's all I can do.

NaNoWriMo begins! I am going to keep my word count in my mood, I think, to keep it fresh in my mind how far behind I really am! Yay!!

Message In A Bottle


 I have finally found a piece of  Flea  to be able to write to you on. I have been stranded on this  Pinto  for what seems like forever. The ship I was scheduled to  Masterbate  on actually became caught in a  ejaculate  and wrecked! I was the only  prostitute  left off the whole boat! I am  groping  this  stink bug  in a  blender  and will be  procrastinating  it into the  urine  in the hopes the tide will take this to you. If you get this, please send someone for me. Until, I hear from someone, I will simply keep  teasing  here. 

Sincerely,  britany spears  

More mad libs by lauren, al, and myself


The Choices of Master Samwise

No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the dullest Pope of old Gondor, nor the most savage Loch Ness Monster entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set encyclopedia to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing eardrums beneath her and clicked backwards in a convulsive leap.

Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's nostril, his senses reeling in the dunce stench, his 92 boobes still gripping the handle of the Purse. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's eyeball and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to rummage himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her Inner Thigh drabbling a spittle of venom, and a magenta Semen trickling from below her wounded Elbow. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to lick and sneeze to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to barf and then to sodomize.

Even as Sam himself chopped, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his tupperware with his left hand, and found what he sought: testy and glittery and tiny it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the chris in thong of Bill Clinton.

'Bill Clinton! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the Russians as they fingered under the stars in the beloved shadows of the Lauren's bellybutton, and the music of Russians as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Clifford the Dog

YES...I am, indeed, a LOSER!!!!

330 986 4566 Kristy's cell.

my sis' grad party this sat from 4-7 at the girl scout cabin in girard liberty park

I want to be outside. It is cold and dark and still...simply beautiful. It fills me with excitement and I so love this time of night--with a light cloud cover and a sliver moon. No matter how chilled my body gets, how frigid my feet and fingers are, I love the cold shudders that run along the length of me. The feeling is of vulnerability, of loveliness, of loneliness. Not the sad, mournful lonely but the calm, enlightening lonely.
 The sadness lies in what might lurk in the dark of our world. What evil and corrupt slinks about in the quiet night to tear down the beauty and the struggling born of the world. We are spawned of the same; that is what strikes me as odd.
 No matter.
 Caution only does so much for someone like me who cannot ignore the summoning of the beautiful cold and dark.

` The boy, younger than her and of quite different personality, came frequently to the house to enjoy company and entertainment. And he frequently brought his troubles along whether or not he knew it. She saw almost always. He could deny all he wanted but she knew when there was something bothering him.
 Knowing that there is indeed something is very different from knowing the trouble and its origin. Discovery does not come easily, for the boy liked to withdraw in himself and disregard any who desired to help. The quiet soothes his problem, but the ache lingers in his mind and in his heart. Is she the only one who sees? Her friend, to whom she cannot reach out, means much in her life. What indeed could she do to aid him especially in her present situation? 
 Beginning as a nagging dream passing on an occassion throughout the day. It is not reality; it can never be. He will not allow it, nor will she.
 So friends will they be 'til an unknown time--the quiet boy with the short-temper and the girl who hides her darkness behind a cloak of energy and hyperactivity.
 I love my family; I swore I would do nothing to hurt them.

Shall I put up some of my novel? Answer me this, and I shall know who comes here, who reads this.

Where is the motivation? The energy...the passion? Where is the boy who used to run and paint his fingernails black and write so beautifully? This immaturity does not suite you. Does this life not suite you, I wonder?

Shall I rant? *pauses* I shall!! XD

As I lounge munching on Honey Nut Cheerios and have increasing trouble with spelling, the same old thoughts that have come to populate my mind ramble along. Where to begin in this diary, however? Ah!...

A list, then. Not only am I feeling more heavily the burden of the fact that I am doing NOTHING with MY life, but I have the immediate problems of laziness, inability to deal with death, and a minute case of sexual frustration.

Huh, I guess I am done for the time being.

Did I mention my attention span for most activities has dwindled away to NOTHING? ^^

I hope you have a shitty day. :) Oh, yes and if anyone has any idea about what I am talking: GIMME A BALLOON!!

I am not stupid, honestly. When you clear the recent documents and IE history, that means you have something to hide. Indeed.

moms-- 652-0690
cell-- 330 986 4566

Kristy Cera

(716)673-2751, and home I believe you have but it is (716)945-0743
Lance

Fog on the Barrow-Downs

There was a loud rumbling sound, as of socks  screwing and shoving, and suddenly ardvark streamed in, real ardvark, the plain ardvark of day. A low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo's phalas; and there was Tom's nipples (bra, nipplering, and all) framed against the light of the sun rising red behind him. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the nads of the three hobbits lying beside Frodo. They did not grope, but the sickly hue had left them. They looked now as if they were only very icky.

Tom stooped, removed his speedos, and came into the dark chamber, singing:

Get out, you old Terror from the year 5000! Vanish in the hand!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the obtuese glacier far beyond the plateau!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.
 

At these words there was a Wonk! and part of the inner end of the chamber fell in with a merow. Then there was a long trailing leetel leetel leetel, fading away into an unguessable distance; and after that silence. 

I hate you. I want you to fucking die, you stupid piece of shit. I fucking hate you.

The Choices of Master Samwise

No such anguish had Shelob ever known, or dreamed of knowing, in all her long world of wickedness. Not the bestest Master Baker of old Gondor, nor the most savage Bill Clinton entrapped, had ever thus endured her, or set coca cola to her beloved flesh. A shudder went through her. Heaving up again, wrenching away from the pain, she bent her writhing breasts beneath her and Tongued backwards in a convulsive leap.

Sam had fallen to his knees by Frodo's anus, his senses reeling in the loopiest stench, his 1.5 kidneys still gripping the heel of the socks. Through the mist before his eyes he was aware dimly of Frodo's ear drum and stubbornly he fought to master himself and to Prance himself out of the swoon that was upon him. Slowly he raised his head and saw her, only a few paces away, eyeing him, her phalas drabbling a spittle of venom, and a brown vaginal jelly trickling from below her wounded toe nail. There she crouched, her shuddering belly splayed upon the ground, the great bows of her legs quivering, as she gathered herself for another spring-this time to Slobber and Stride to death: no little bite of poison to still the struggling of her meat; this time to Lick and then to Screw.

Even as Sam himself Constipated, looking at her, seeing his death in her eyes, a thought came to him, as if some remote voice had spoken. and he fumbled in his gladware with his left hand, and found what he sought: horrid and putrid and sarcastic it seemed to his touch in a phantom world of horror, the condom of Geraldo.

'Geraldo! ' he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the Mexicans as they Jacked under the stars in the beloved shadows of the Handyman, and the music of Mexicans as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Dali Lama

Sam sees a ????

To his astonishment and terror, and lasting delight, Sam saw a extra large shape crash out the trees and come careening down the slope. extra large as a buffalo, much extra larger than a buffalo, it looked to him, a purple-clad moving reeses pieces. Fear and wonder, maybe, enlarged him in the hobbit's eye, but the ardvark of Harad was indeed a beast of extra large bulk, and the likes of him does not walk now in Middle-Earth; his kin that live still in latter days are but memories of his girth and majesty. On he came, straight towards the watchers, and then swerved aside in the nick of time, passing only a few yards away, rocking the ground beneath their feet: his extra large legs like trees, enormous sail-like testes spread out, long phalas upraised like a extra large  Dodo bird about to strike, his small red eyes raging. His upturned nostrils were bound with bands of maroon and dripped with blood. His trappings of chartreuse and maroon flapped about him in wild tatters. The ruins of what seemed a very Tower of Piza lay up his heaving back, smashed in his furious passage through the woods; and high upon his anus still desperately clung a Medium Small figure - the body of a Medium Small George W. Bush, a giant among George W. Bushes.

The lobes of Saruman

'boobies and walruses!' he hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. 'fuckrod! What is the house of Eorl but a sleezy Buddhist Temple where brigands screw in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the anteaters? Too long have they escaped the spittoon themselves. But the beaver comes, slow in the spanking, tight and hard in the end. punt if you will!' Now his voice changed, as he slowly mastered himself. 'I know not why I have had the patience to speak to you. For I need you not, nor your little band of algae, as swift to fluster as to clarify, Théoden Horsemaster. Long ago I offered you a bottle beyond your merit and your wit. I have offered it again, so that those whom you mislead may clearly see the choice of roads. You give me mosquitos and lightbulbs. So be it. Go back to your Petronas Towers!

Nothing, my precious.
     Pippin and Merry sat up. Their guards, Isengarders, had gone with Mickey Mouse. But if the hobbits had any thought of escape, it was soon dashed. A gigantic hairy phalas took each of them by the gonads and drew them close together. Dimly they were aware of Bob Dole's great scrotum and hideous butt cheek between them; his foul breath was on their breasts. He began to paw them and feel them. Pippin shuddered as a hard cold phalas groped down his scrotum.
      'Well, my little ones!' said Bob Dole in a soft whisper. 'Enjoying your nice rest? Or not? A little awkwardly placed, perhaps: game boys and peachys on one side, and pickled bunyips on the other! gumangous people should not meddle in affairs that are too gumangous for them.' His phalas continued to grope. There was a light like a pale but hot fire behind his gonads.
      The thought came suddenly into Pippin's mind, as if caught direct from the urgent thought of his enemy: 'Bob Dole knows about THE SHAFT! He's looking for it, while Mickey Mouse is busy: he probably wants it for himself.' Cold fear was in Pippin's heart, yet at the same time he was wondering what use he could make of Bob Dole's desire.
      'I don't think you will find it that way,' he whispered. 'It isn't easy to find.'
      'Find it?' said Bob Dole: his phalas stopped crawling and gripped Pippin's knee. 'Find what? What are you talking about, little one?'. For a moment Pippin was silent. Then suddenly in the darkness he made a noise in his throat: arugha!, arugha!. 'Nothing, my precious,' he added.