I'm in hottie heaven. This picture... Whoa... *Drools*

Kristin Cavallari encompasses several key features of a really hot chick(in my book at least) in ascending order:

1. Nice flowy hair...
2. Nice ass and legs
3. A rack(looks good in other pictures, but her rack doesn't look so great in here, thus the low rank)
4. She looks great in a tank top
5. She loves bongo(I love the bass and she likes the jeans but I'll keep lying to myself to stay happy)
6. Awesome pouty lip smile
7. Awesome smile
8. She's really beautiful, YAY!

That's all I can think of for now. I had a couple more reasons some time back. But yeah.

I know, I'm pathetic. Not proud, not proud at all. BAH!

Because I am not a robot

It's true, being upset doesn't make me sing any better. Damn you dude from X Japan... Or maybe it's because I'm singing in my kiln of a room because I'm upset over a girl, and Toshi was singing about his dead guitarist in his semi-legendary performance at Hide's funeral. (I'm not a X Japan fan, but Toshi's voice sounds like aural butter)

My rockstar dreams took another hit. This should be my 5th rejection/break up.
I grudgingly agreed to leave my ska band because N wanted to play some punk rock and my hillbilly mind told me that I should strictly be playing reggae and ska only.

Not related to my departure from the ska band:It's sad that such a beautiful form of music like ska/jazz/blues gets that little appreciation while every song that Rihanna grunts gets played on air constantly. All the little robots that Timbaland created, they're taking over the world, and turning the Earth into grey-goo.


On a side note, I will up my death age to 37 or 38, instead of 35, just to have 3 years of spending all my worldly wealth getting high, travelling, playing Casanova and trying good food, so that nobody gets any booty once I'm dead, and kicking it my Lord and Savior. My entire intention of dying young is to die a little past my prime years. But looking at my body now, I think I might have past it already.

*Happy Belly says Hi!*... Thank God I can still see my willy, and my toes. But not for long I'd bet. Stupid food and beer.

One last thing, I'm still glad that nobody knows this little journal that I keep. Gives me a chance to look back at how stupid I am whenever I come here. And another last thing, I think I'm posting too regularly.

I'm an awful awful song writer.

You asked me to prepare something special,

So I wonder how’d this fare with you.

Here I go writing this song,

At four thirty,

My birthday morn’.

You are in my dreams when I sleep,

When I’m awake I am your creep.

Radio playing in my head,

Oh you’re the girl I’d love to hate,

I’m kidding (whispered).

Well I’m at your beck and call,

That pretty face, her perfect soul,

Always leave me begging for more,

The one who defied all of nature’s laws

Never caught out in the cold.

Chorus:

Ain’t she something?

Just when I thought God left us all,

She appeared,

Held me close til the fog cleared.

Ain’t she something?

She threatens me with Panic!,

But darlin’ I won’t play that game.

I’d rather take you out for a picnic,

On a sunny afternoon,

Find some silly song to croon.

Please pardon my writing skills,

But these words are merely words,

And she’s so much more.

My rhyming's pretty awful. I got to start reading more books by Dr. Seuss to gather inspiration.

I live in a box,

I look like a fox,

Why are you blue,

Little boy blue.

HA! Who said you can't rhyme blue with blue.

Square Root of Three

Square Root of Three

I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic

I know I’ll never see the sun,
as 1.7321
Such is my reality,
a sad irrationality

When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three

As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands

Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed

- Dave Feinberg