It's a good thing no one can read this.

I found a compositition book from G-d knows when holding writings about the differences between Americans and Vietnamese people (but mostly the similarites), why I like my paternal grandmother, a story about Monkey Juice from a witch doctor featuring my middle school friend Genrty Hale, and typos, typos, typos.
I wrote a biography that has the teacher's handiwork marked all over it in brown ink.
[Pre-first: My teacher was Ms. Hanks. I had a friend named Jonathan and other friends but I don't remember their names.] That statement was completely stricken out by Ms. Hunt, my Third and Fourth grade teacher (I know, she was a lucky sonufagun).

Now it is my daily journal with childish red marks that look like words on the cover.

Dec 16 2008
Saw Shalini at the mall.
Didn't talk, but I diverted (thought I did) attention towards my Brookstone application. Du-ooy.
[an hour later]
Now I'm doing the flying Dutchman routine. Walking here and there (in some cases INTO here and there) just to bump into Shal the Balla' again (noone calls here that...I hope noone calls her that). She ducked in a GAP, but I...hesitanted. And went on about my application errand thinking: A} it (the application) was more important (it was why I was there) B} Women spend a longer time shopping in a GAP then I do doing ANYTHING.
Great. I've now lost my mind in public. I wish I had a camera. Or a gun. Or a camera-gun for some real shopping.

In other news: Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind on XBOX has frieghten me from being abscond into inifinity. I won't play it until I'm sure I'll fall asleep while playing the thing.

80+hours of gameplay can and has fucking killed humans.

Dream I had:
Married to a 100, 000 .lbs woman who is valued at $100,000 (or so the newspaper headliner says). Her name is Pearl.
Her Momma is 40-mid 50 looking but could be older: Mona.
In the dream Walter Blackman, we took journal making class together and is responsible for me finding reasons to outburst with "RANDY MOSS" or "LIBBIN-LIVI' A LIE, LIBBIN-LIVIN' DE LIE, TIMMAY", is my twisted friend who helps me move into my new apartment with the missus. He plays vidja games (looked like GI JOE on NES) while(?) watching porn, my porn (I'm not so sure about that last part. It could easliy be the wedding night video).
Pearl's got a younger sister. I got a case of the "don't know"s on her name (THAT'S WHAT I SAID IN THE DREAM. DON'T JUDGE).

Now for something I didn't cut and paste out of boredom

But the boredom is there notheless.
Tips on how to be a good writer:
-WRITE!
-Write a whole lot of a bunch.
Then, when you are NOT writing:
-READ!
-Reading makes your writing better.
-Just better.
-Like, a whole lot...a bunch...a very big bunch of betterment...ality

Writer's block? SAY WHAAAAAA?!
-Write about that shit!
-Or read.
-No. Wait. Write! Screw "reading".
-Yeah, you better write about that shit, bitch. Or else...the hammer...

Can't use your laptop because the new Word Processor is like a NARC in the night and won't allow you to use it unless you kept "the launch codes" on the friggin' box it came in?
-Get in the line poor people have to get in to fix their problems!
-And use the Notebook Application! It takes the ease of typing on the computer and turns it into a battle of wills! No autobackup of your .doc if the power runs out!
-Exclamtion Points for everyone!!!!!!

I hope this was fun to read and not very helpful at all!
Because if it was helpful, you need pills! Bad!