I should not drink any more whiskey.
I pick wrong people.
Wrong people love me and love ruining me.
Yes, I hate them.
And, hell yeah, I hate M. Monroe. (NOT Marilyn.)
M. Monroe deserves to die.
My car runs weird now after P3 servicing.
I can foresee me getting arrested at Dover.
Should I still go to Dover?
This chianti is fab, and it's only 2.99 a bottle.
I want to be HP's groupie.
I honestly don't remember txting Mur last night.
I fucking miss my neighbour and that's wrong in so many levels.
My thighs are getting out of control.
What a waste to do this all for no action, I am Jack's wasted Hedwig.
Well, at least I look rather good for a change.
Moisturize, moisturize, as Keith and Ms. Vida Boheme said.
I need to go out, someone take me out, am begging.
I am sorry for Cameron's loss, hate when little people die.
Can't wait for the Great British Duck Race on 6/9/2009, I will make donations to kids in suffering.
I want to sleep covered in bath ducks.
Someone get me a roll of film and a rangefinder.
No regret, ever, not even you.
Enjoy the life, you only live twice.
