Why making jokes about Bono can get you assissinated in third world countries...

I'm so happy... I finally menstrated all over someone today. ^^ I'm pleased to announce that TJ popped my bloody cherry today when I decided that smiting him with my art tube wasn't enough, and so I sat on him and bled all-over his pants. HOW'D YOU LIKE THAT, BITCH?

Bleeding all over stuff, me and Mike have decided, is the best female tool for vengence ever. Think about it... No one wants random blood spots all over their furniture and such, so begins the new age of Feminism known as Bloody Sunday, or that really crappy U2 song. So, not only am I making shots at Bono (which is like kicking a puppy) but I'm also metaphorically bleeding on Jesus's head... metaphorically, which makes me happy and bigger than toast.

So I've been thinking as well... what would it be like if men had periods? For some reason, I get a picture of my friend bent over in his apartment, ass spouting blood like a super-soaker all over the walls. Hey... you can't knock the interior design until you've tried painting your walls with your anal fountain of doom. Anyway... I know, too gross for some of you, but so is the image of my mother tea-bagging people, (according to our all-mighty red-neck Jesus, Randy.)

Why a vibrating tickle-me-Elmo is not the best thing to give to pre-teen girls.

My day went by normally... Which sadly, isn't all that normal, but I enjoyed it anyway. I got most of the terms from this girl I hardly knew (I will refer to her as YOU, because there's no way in hell I can spell her name) in English, But YOU made me give them back before I could get the last page; anger. I dragged Mr. Butt-fuck home with me, (the previously menstrated on) and he played DDR at my house for two or three hours at my oh-so-humble household while I struggled between dozing off and whatching his ass fall off the pad multiple times, providing me with my after-noon entertainment.

He went home around six after we read up on some specialty artwork, and my dad came careening around the corner to pick me up in his newly rented Liberty. Fun. So here I am now, after carting about 70 books upstairs through six trips and loving the lack of edible food in my father's house. Frozen food, canned vegetables, or crossants. None of which look the slightest inviting to my burning and whiny stomach. So; Good night and Good luck... And remember children that bleeding from an uncomfortable orifice is not just for mother nature, but a useful tool of coertion as well.