wrist cramps are a bitch. i hate these stocks or whatever in fucksname they are. i couldn't blow a hole in this moldy box if i wanted to. not enough organics--i mean--goddamn. least they could have done was given me handcuffs. can't even scratch my back with my own hands.
(please mister LJ police. don't kill me over my interests box. this is a role-play account. it just so happens that i landed the role of the sociopath. i do not, and will not ever condone any of the acts mentioned in my interests box--except liking lucky charms breakfast cereal...and uke roy. i'll pimp that stuff until the day i die.)