Lol…. But I really don’t understand why they’re so despised
omg dying xD
So I lost about a hundred followers. Probably because I haven’t posted in forever. I reconnected with my good pal Josh, and it’s our one year bestest friends anniversary. He’s been missing in action. I forgot how much fun we used to have murdering bees with insect spray, playing the knockoff version of jenga, writing raps, etc. However, after a bonding game of Kirby dreamland, I drove home feeling complete. I love you Joshua Brady. Never disappear from my life again. Btw, if you own a wii, buy the new jenga game. It’s exhilarating, and it’s receiving terrific reviews.
My tumblr is in French. I’m so confused. Taking a bus to Madrid tomorrow for WYD. There are gypsies everywhere. I thought they were a myth.
Every single person on this entire planet is a freaking lunatic. People have so many preferences. They like how some foods taste but not others. I believe that this is a psychological thing. We like the things we grew up eating as a child because we are familiar with them. We take one look at a dish and decide whether or not we will like it, soley based on its appearance. The fact of the matter is, if a person is truly hungry, they’ll eat anything. We do what we have to do to live. We stay alive at any cost.
I work at Happy Critters. I hate animals. Wretched creatures. The only good thing about animals is that you don’t have to listen to their opinions, unlike humans who will inevitably tell you every little boring factoid concerning their existance which you just end up tuning out anyway. I work at Happy Critters because Rutherford Simmons works at Happy Critters. Did work at Happy Critters.
Rutherford Simmons is the vanilla ice cream sundae from when you were a kid. Once someone mentioned it, you had to have it. You craved it and wouldn’t be satisfied until you were devouring it. I think the most alluring feature about Rutherford Simmons is his laugh. He’s got that deep belly laugh where he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s got the kind of laugh that lets you know that he’s truly enjoying himself. He’s not just pretending to laugh in fear that some awful joke might be told a second time.
He was laughing. He found it hilarious that I had spilled my coffee all over the front of my uniform polo shirt and onto the floor. Normally, the incident would have been a crappy start to an even worse day, but I couldn’t help myself. A grin emerged on my face, and I was laughing right along with Rutherford Simmons. He offered to clean it up, but I insisted on doing it myself. As I went to take a step forward, my old sneakers slipped in the puddle of coffee, and I stumbled into the nearby shelf. It wavered for a moment as I held my breath. Suddenly, shelves and shelves of tin cans came tumbling down like an avalanche of cat food. I closed my eyes and plugged my ears with my fingers. Loud noises give me headaches.
911 was called and the ambulance came. They should have just let him die. I regret not dragging his body to the dumpster and ending his life. I wanted to observe the chaos that was taking place in the parking lot as the paramedics attempted to revive him, but I still had 3 more hours left until my shift ended. So I returned to my post behind the register and waited for a customer to come in and purchase a lizard or something.
It’s my day off today. My only day off in five weeks, actually, and I’m spending it at the hospital. I haven’t seen Rutherford Simmons yet, but I hear it’s pretty bad.
I’m following a nurse through a hallway. Her steps are anxious as if she’s got a million other places to be, and I’m wasting her time. She stops at a door identical to all of the other doors and pushes it open.
Glancing around the room, I notice Rutherford Simmons sitting in a bed. From the looks of it, the mattress is pretty uncomfortable, and the sheets offer little warmth. There are so many tubes sticking out of him that it looks unnatural, and for a moment, I’m tempted to pull them out. The nurse informs me that he’s suffered significant brain damage and that he will never be able to move or communicate but that he’s lucky to be alive. I nod but feel differently.
I walk over to his bedside, nearly stumbling into the contraption he’s hooked up to. I stare at his lips, studying them. He’s unable to open them to laugh again. He’s unable to open them to tell me that he hates me for destroying his life. Emotionless, I shrug and walk out.
Standing outside, I flag down a taxi that will take me home where I will sleep. Then I will return to work again tomorrow to go on maintaining a standard of living no better than Rutherford Simmons’.
Laser lights. Captain America. Cod. Accidental offroading. Bro flow. McDonalds. Lap sleeping. Big headed doctors. Mood lighting.