I'm sitting on a couch at the living room with Chris. if you don't know why I would say "at" instead of "in," then you should go to the corner of 59th and El Cajon Blvd. [and whore yourself. The local pimp's name is Q-tip. Ask for him, he might take all your money, but atleast he doesn't slap a hoe.] that was Chris' mischief while I was replying to a text.
anyway, the living room is what I always wanted to find in Seattle but never could. it's a coffee shop open til the wee hours of the morning with free, not-overly-complicated-to-log-into wifi. and it's cool. Chris is currently sulking with one hand under his chin and the other touching his bloody vag. now he's debating whether or not he's sulking. (he is.) (yes you are.) (yes... you fucking are.) (yes. ok I'm done.) (fine. no you are.)
ok Chris is bored and distracting me. what a terrible little blog post! hopefully I'll have something real to say soon. (maybe I will, Chris.)
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to all of my audience out there in the digital realm who were not born with a phallus, sorry about the bloody vag comment. I meant to delete that, and I re-read and saw that I forgot. I only meant that he was being "pre-menstrual", so to speak.
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAH finally!
i went to the living room tonight and you were not there. how could you do that to me.
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