08/02/2004 - 3:40 a.m. | peaches and whatever

OMG Shelly now I have a legitimate reason to hat you. I mean, I could take the fact that you never really wrote anything in your diary. Pictures are fine by me, whatever, good to see. But fuck kissy shit aiee my eyes. If it weren't so late, and if my light wasn't still burnt out, there would be soon be a series of pictures posted entitled, "Nate kissing stupid junk that also no one else wants to see." And it would be me and a basketball and me and the gun and me and a bottle of whiskey and me and a stop sign. And maybe some pants or a shirt I really liked or my brand new MOOD RING (!!) from the gas station for $2.99. All in black and white, of course, because that's artsier. And maybe some lens flare. Interspaced between my goth poetry and inspiration quotes from my favorite WWE wrestling superstars. My computer, for whatever reason, makes these obnoxious whining noises whenever I resize a window or scroll using the mouse wheel. These burn my skull, but it is nothing compared to your picture there. In short, I've had better migraines.

OOPS! You know me! Grumpy old Nate always hatin' those public displays of affection. Or, um, affection at all most of the time. That silly old codger! I love both you guys, of course, and I'm sure you understand that such a bold display of "that mashy stuff" was going to have to be attacked as quickly as possible and by me because everyone else either does it or likes it or has it. I am the bitter Jason Lee character in the movie, haha get it? OK, I flatter myself. I am the bitter Danny DeVito character. Edward James Olmos? Fuck. Someone else choose for me. I'm going to go drink juuuuuust enough poison so that it feels like I'm dying without all that nasty death business.