I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE HERE TODAY.
Research papers suck. Seriously. Thanks for ruining English for me. Shall I mark the sucka off our hit list?
Art: DEAD
Music: DEAD
WRITING: F*CKING SPLATTERED LIKE A NOOB ON SATURDAY
CREATIVITY IN GENERAL: DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDD
OH GOD YES. HOW I WEEP FOR MY DARLING CREATIVITY; WISPED AWAY BY THE MONKEY-SUITED SERAPHS OF NEW; CARRIED LIKE A BACKWARD-BORN BABE TOTH INTO THE WOMB OF NOTHINGNESS FROM WENCE IT CAME. HOW SHALL WE SAVE OURSELVES FROM NOTHING AT ALL? THE VOID; AWFUL, SWELLING, THAT EMBOWLS THE PIT THAT, AT ONE TIME, ONE PRECIOUS, YIELDING TIME, COULD HAVE BEEN KNOWN AS; I DON'T KNOW; A SENSE OF HUMANITY. OH, HOW THEY CRY! PUREST LOVES OF THE ARTISTRY'S KINDRES! HOW THEY CRY! BUT LO, IT IS NOON TOO LATE. FATHER IS FLOATING. FACE DOWN. IN A TUB OF KEROSINE AND SHAME.
Right, now that I'm done ranting. How's your weekend?
YOU ARE READING
The "Funny" Book
RandomThis is literally just random garbage I feel the need to tell the world.
