Yeah, still waiting, so wtf, why not write, but fuck does my typing suck when I'm drunk.

Why can't it be as simple when I was in high school. JOKE. It couldn't have been worse than when I was in HS. I was anorexic, in love with my English professor and failed out of my senior year because I drove my car into the parking lot, but hung out in the bird-shit covered bell tower all day.

But sickly, I almost wish I was back there. Because now I would def know how to fuck Mr. Coffman. Shit, he wasn't even a Ph.D. And I've fucked plenty of them since then.  And I was damn hot back then.

Time to cut my inner thigh a little harder. Bleed more. Tougher I am.

And seriously, if you wanted to f* me, wouldn't it be hotter if my inner thighs were cut to hell. It shows that I could fuck you pretty hard. Or you could fuck me pretty hard. Either way it'd be good. F'ing good. At least for one night. Until you woke up and realized what a crazy person you had spent the night with.

But don't worry I would never, NEVER lay claim on you.

In fact if you tried to lay claim on me, I'd disappear as quick as a vapor.

Love ya. Ralph, give me what you got.