Shakespeare is a cabbage.

Today marks an important day in the history of my blog. When I began typing pseudocurses into the search bar, the web address finished itself for me. I was thrilled. I have been waiting for this to happen ever since I started this blog. It's too hard to type pseudocurses into the search bar every time. It's a long word, and it's really obnoxious to spell. I should have called it something easier.

That's at least the fourth time I've said that.

Anyway, Earth Day was a few days ago. I should have done something special for Earth Day, but wearing my awesome Save the Sea Kittens hoodie was enough for me. Earth Day. It's exciting. I'm over it now.

I've been reading a lot of books lately, as usual. Unfortunately, I don't feel like telling you about any of them. You can just suffer, all right? I don't care.

Fine. I do care. I have trouble lying online. This is a problem that I might need to work on for later in life.

I just bought some new books recently. Melting Stones, which was fabulous simply because Tamora Pierce wrote it, was one. I also got Airhead and Skinned, which I hadn't expected to be about the same thing. Airhead is by that Meg Cabot woman (calling authors that ... guy/woman is how I show my admiration for them. Really.), which is good because I like her, but I think Skinned might have been its author's first novel. I just got it because that Scott Westerfeld guy wrote about it on his blog. Anyway, they were both about teenage chicks and body-swapping. Good books, though, although Skinned was good because I like sci-fi and robots and Airhead was good because I like Meg Cabot.

The problem with me trying to write a blog post is that I feel too apathetic to write anything. I mean, obviously I can write down some nonsense and random words that don't flow together.

Example:

fish yellow cowboy potato Spain dogs blondies cats tofu mariachi fortissimo fabulous fantastic great spiffing amazing English Welsh bonsai kamikaze donut

I can also conjugate French verbs, but I don't think that's writing as much as it is memorizing and then spitting it back up.

Example:

je choisis

tu choisis

elle chosit

nous choisissons

vous choisissez

elles choisissent

If you take French, or if you just have any reason to speak French, tell me if that was right. If you don't take French, what's the matter with you? Go sign up for a French class right this moment and learn it!

The point of blogging isn't really to write down what happens to you. I mean, obviously on one level it is. If I wasn't writing this about my life, I wouldn't be writing it about anything. Blogging is, in my opinion (don't listen to me; I'm a lazy blogger and I only started doing this a few months ago) more about writing your opinions on your life. I mean, my favorite kitty Lulu died is only really sad if you also write about how Lulu being sad makes you feel. Writing I had fun in Science today is only interesting if I explain why I had fun in Science class (which I won't, just to keep this blog to a PG-13 rating).

Having a broken z key has made me realize how many times a day I call myself lazy. Now that it comes out as lay all the time, I notice it more. Maybe I should work on being more productive and procrastinating less...

You can see what's coming here, right? I'll let you say it with me. Wait--I want to make sure you're there on the other side of the Internet, talking with me. Don't want to talk to a computer because it'll be a little (or a lot) psycho? Kiss my grits. Okay, one...two...three...

No, I'm too lazy.

My English teacher, who shall from this point on be known as The Sherm, is having us do a unit on Shakespeare. The Sherm was the best nickname I could come up with on short notice, not like the half of advisory I spent deciding to call my history teacher Mr. X. The problem with Queen Mrs. K. L. Sherman is that it's too long for me to type, and QMKLS is one of the strangest acronyms I've ever seen. 

The first thing you must understand about Shakespeare--this is absolutely imperative to know--is that he is a cabbage. Yes. Shakespeare is a cabbage. Or, he was a cabbage, as I should say. I don't know why Shakespeare is a cabbage. I vaguely remember reading it somewhere and being deeply amused. I guess it was in some book I read when I was younger. Anyway, he is.

I was in The Sherm's fortress of EVIL, room 224, and she was forcing ufs to submit to her will through a substitute teacher by the name of Ms. Winn. Even though she was not with us, her malevolent presence was felt throughout the room, from the bookshelf that would fall over if you gave it one good kick to the can of chocolate dead parrots with the pens ending in fake flowers. I know I felt her presence. Anyone else in that class: were you feeling that aura of malevolence?

We were watching some dumb instructional video about Shakespeare, and we were supposed to be taking notes. I'm not sure anyone did. Well, I did. Sort of.

Example of my notes:

oh crap! THE PLAGUE

Shakespeare=a cabbage=ol' C

ol' C stuck five Iambs in a sentence and called it Iambic pentameter

ha-ha, let's stick Aristotle in somehow! No.

It's a good thing I knew most of the stuff she quizzed us on. I would have done terribly if I'd actually needed those notes. Note to self: take better notes.

That's all for today, dear readers.

Wait, no, it's not. I just want to point out that alternating between calling you dear readers and infidels is perfectly normal and shows no sign of mental disorder on my part. Thank you.

Infidels.

"What kind of vegetarian are you?"

Today, I began to clean my closet while trying not to do my homework or pack. Yes, I am that skilled. I can procrastinate doing my homework and packing. Two in one. Watch (well, read) as I procrastinate about three things at once: I'm not doing my homework, packing, or playing the clarinet. I know, I'm amazing.


I tab to dictionary dot com more than is healthy while writing this blog. It's not my fault. I think of a fabulous word to use, but I'm not exactly sure if it works for what I'm thinking of. So I just zip over to dictionary dot com, type the word into the nifty little search bar, and voilà (that's French) I know whether or not I can use the word without making a fool of myself.

I haven't been updating much...at all...

This is probably a sign from the heavens and/or me that I am not a responsible young adult and should not be trusted with a blog. Take it away from me. Lock up Remi! No, wait, don't. I need him for, um, school stuff. No, not Facebook at all... Take away my blog, though. I can't write on it as much as people expect me to. I'm letting you all down! I feel like a horrible person.

Okay, I'm over it.

On Tuesday, my English class had a debate on the hot topic of vegetarianism vs. omnivorism; or, as Ms. Knox liked to call it, vegetarians vs. meat-eaters. Yes, this is the very same Ms. Knox who Spiffy and Liss have ranted about on their own blogs. Terrible teacher, lisps a little, over-explains, writes unclear directions, focuses a little too much of our valuable class time on persuasion...yeah, that's the one. She divided the class into four sections: pro-vegetarians, con-vegetarians, pro-meat-eaters, and con-meat-eaters. No one knew what she was getting at with that, but she responded to all questions with either "I'll explain later" or explained which section of the class was what again.

I was stuck with the con-vegetarians, which made me lose the uninterested, slacker-like vibe I have been trying to project for the past week or so. As a proud vegetarian, I was not about to argue for the side of those carnivores. Fortunately, she let us switch sides until we were hanging with the side we wanted.

The pro-vegetarians across the classroom became my new people. We sat around for a little while coming up with reasons why vegetarianism is where it's at, but then we lost interest. What can I say? We're eighth graders. Losing interest is pretty much what we do; that, and make perverted jokes. We do that a lot, too.

"I'm sorry," said one of my fabulous group-mates. You're all fabulous, every single one of you. "But meat-eaters reminds me of dinosaurs."

"Meat-eaters are dinosaurs."

I wrote that down as one of the notes our speaker (Rennie) was going to use in her argument. It became kind of our slogan, our rallying cry. Also, we put our hands up in front of us so that we resembled deformed, scale-less T-rexes and made dinosaur noises. Did I mention that we're eighth graders? This kind of juvenile behavior shoukd really be beneath us, but it's not.

Speaking of juvenile behavior, we clapped like maniacs whenever someone who supported our anti-dinosaur beliefs spoke. We also waved our hands around and gave thumbs-ups while Rennie talked, tried to start chants of "beans and rice! Beans and rice!," and made fun of the opposing sides' arguments when no one was talking. We also talked back when people were talking, enough that Ms. Knox told us we "weren't allowed to talk to the people were talking" several times. I had to ask if we were allowed to talk to the people who weren't talking.

Everyone brought up peanut butter as something vegetarians eat.

"You say vegetarians don't get enough protein. Vegetarians get lots of protein. They can eat peanut butter."

"Peanut butter has protein?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Danny. He isn't a vegetarian, but he did a great job pretending. "That's why you eat pb&j."

"But I don't eat pb&j."

"What kind of vegetarian are you?"

"Don't talk while other people are talking," said Ms. Knox.

We (the vegetarians) obviously won all the debates by sheer awesomeness. Other people didn't agree, but they were just dinosaurs and no one really cares what dinosaurs think.

When I got home, I decided to pretend to be a dinosaur. This involved scrunching up my arms and hopping around the living room making dinosaur noises. Since, as everyone knows, dinosaurs breathe methane (another point brought up by some group: cows contribute to methane in the air), I also said "Methane! Methane!" at random moments.

"I'm going to eat you!" I told the child. "Methane!"

"Stop saying methane," he said.

"Methane!"

"Stop it!"

Since the child wouldn't let me eat him, I decided to eat the cat. "Methane! Methane!" I said, dropping into a very hunter-like crouch and stalking my prey. "Methane!"

"Meow," said the cat.

"Methane!" I tried to bite the back of the cat's neck, as that is a very good spot to bite when killing things, but she tasted nasty and her fur stuck to my mouth, so I gave up.

Madame, my French teacher (all French teachers are called that. Unless they're men. Or women who think they're young enough to be called Mademoiselle), decided to let a notorious problem student take control of the class when we had a half day. He took a vote of what we should do that day, as she asked, but it was already getting out of control by the time his friends showed up to write their own ideas down.

French Activities:

• Heads up, seven up
• Silent seatball
• Movie
• SSR
• Brendan and Brad teach how to take a computer apart
• Mom and Dad
• Loto
• That swatting game
• Gang fights
• Drugs
• Mr. Brown
• Make out

Brad voted for everything. A surprising number of people voted for gang fights. We ended up playing silent seatball. Brendan, however, wasn't ready to relinquish his microphone. He sat at the front of the classroom, narrating the game and giving us comments like:

"Sarah, show some expression."

"Zach and Ryan, stop giving Nick accupuncture with rulers."

"Cooper, stop being such a ladies' man."

I learn a lot in French. No, really. Even with Zach doing things like leaning back so his head is on my desk and dancing in his seat with only this as an explanation: "Madama, I'm in my ya-ya house."

More exciting stuff happens in my life, but my fingers would fall off if I even tried to write it all down. It's practically eleven at night. I'm going to sleep.

Good afternoon, children of the night.

It's not afternoon. Oh well. And you're not children of the night, either. At least, I hope you're not. I assume you'd tell me if you were a vamp, right? Like, Libby, I know you've suspected that I'm a vamp. Maybe it was because I drink the blood of innocents, or maybe it was the fangs. I'm not sure. I am a vamp, though. Please don't treat me any differently. The undead are just like you and me. That would make me feel so much better about your condition, as long as you weren't about to suck my blood.

I had a moment of confusion today while half-listening to music and half-watching animanga. One of the characters finished speaking, and then someone in my song said la la la. For a second, I heard it as being in the animanga. I was totally confused.

I'm so sad that the kimchi kitty refuses to walk on the computer. At first, she would walk across the keyboard and write something like jnsdatfyr, but she now jumps right over it. It's very cute and all, but I'm sure it would be much easier to just walk across the computer.

Mother has commented that she is not the only cruel dictator in our household. That is true, Mother. She thinks I'm dissing her. Yes, she does. She said it to me, the same way the cat talks to me every day. Father is also an inexorable ruler, but I haven't mentioned him because he's not around right now.

I can't be the only person who has ever spent time staring at several sheets of paper spread around me, sure that I was supposed to have learned it in class and yet have no idea how to do my homework. It's a common predicament; it must be. People can't learn everything teachers tell them all the time. It's just not possible. If it were, we'd probably all be living on the moon with a race of super-smart people. Or, as Mr. X thinks will happen in the future, we'll make some robots that are smarter than us and they'll murder us all.

There is a small black marble almost exactly in the center of the square formed by the walls and the sideboard. It looks to me like modern art in the making. Human misery. Blackness. One soul in a square wasteland of sameness.

Where did I put my camera? This could make me all kinds of money, nearly as much as writing out my teen girl novel about Aethelfrith, Azrael, and Aiden would. I could call it One Deeply Depressed Marble Drowning in a Sea of Wood and Misery. Or not.

The child and I were having a super air-guitar contest! I was losing. I'm not exactly sure how you can lose when the only thing you're doing is waving your hands around pretending to strum a guitar, but I was losing. I got bored of guitar and changed my hand positions.

"Libby, what are you doing?" asked the child, still strumming like a maniac.

"I'm playing the bass!"

"Oh yeah, the bass guitar."

"No, the string bass!"

"This is a rock band," he informed me. "You don't play string bass in a rock band!"

"I'm playing the rock string bass!" At this point, I was seized by an amazing idea: String Bass Hero! Everyone would want to play it! You would hold the Wii Remote up above your head and use the Nunchuck like a bow! It would be at least as profitable as my career as an artist, if not more.

I'm getting tired and lazy now. Deal with my short post. I might write a longer post tomorrow, but probably not. Being tired and lazy doesn't go away that easily. Either you have it or you don't.

Laziness is not a choice, dear readers.

It's called a dictionary.

Don't die just because I've been too lazy to post. I would hate it if that happened. Don't die from anything else, either. I'd miss you from the bottom of my heart. I would miss you from the tiniest crevices of this piece of stone I call a heart. There would be much missing involved in my being.

Today I shall type at length about one of my favorite topics: English. Yes, that language which we all speak. I assume you speak English if you can read this, anyway. I really love English, more than is probably sane and healthy. Typos tend to make me feel inadequate. I use words like inadequate. I own an Oxford English Dictionary. I made a list of my favorite words today in math class while Liss stared at me.

It is my fate to be a teacher of English in some fashion. Middle school English, high school English, college English...you name it, I might teach it. I have had many ideas of what jobs I might take in the future, but this is probably what I'll end up with. Never mind that I hate children and speaking in front of people. The country needs more people with a genuine love for our language teaching it. Say "no" to apathetic English teachers! Say "yes" to shy people who are passionate about our language and your spelling mistakes!

There is a word for situations when someone else makes an appalling mistake and you still feel the need to quote whatever it is they're saying: [sic]. That means: I notice that you have made a mistake, so I will put these three letters behind it to prove to the rest of the world that I have noticed your mistake and am therefore smarter than you. That's a lot of meaning in three letters. I might be paraphrasing there, but that's pretty much what it means. So, that's what those "Bad Grammar Makes Me [sic]" people are about. It's such a helpful little Latin-rooted word.

I have been reading blogs such as Red Pen Inc. and Apostrophe Catastrophe. I love the phrase apostrophe catastrophe. Those of you who go to school with me will have to deal with me saying, "Oh my gosh! Apostrophe catastrophe!" all the time. Also, "Don't make me get out my red pen!" I have two red pens now. One is pretty normal. The other is a sparkly red gel pen. If there's anything more awesome than a grammar freak, it's a girly grammar freak.

English: use it.

Tetchy: irritable.

Caliente: hot.

That's a terrible Spanish Word of the Day. Everyone knows what it means already.

It has come to my attention (yes, it totally has) that people who are cat owners act differently than people who are not cat owners. I even came up with a short quiz to determine if you're a cat owner or not.

Are you a cat owner?

(1. Strongly agree; 2. somewhat agree; 3. neutral; 4. somewhat disagree; 5. strongly disagree.)

__ I often feel the urge to run over and pet a cat.

__ I have used the phrase "look at her cute little kitty pawsies/nosie/face" in a sentence.

__ I own cat food.

__ There are cat toys scattered around my house.

__ I have petted a cat in the past day.

__ I have spoken to a cat in a baby voice.

__ I have spoken to a cat as if it can speak back.

__ I have spoken to a cat.

__ I own a cat.

If you answered strongly agree to the last question, congratulations! You are most likely a cat owner! I make the most helpful quizzes, don't I? Tomorrow, maybe I'll make a quiz to help you figure out what color hair you have.

I'm done now, dear readers.

My family is impairing my rebel-crushing activites.

They are! The child refuses to tell me where the rebel base is. I can't believe I have a rebel sympathizer in my own home! I mean, I have to live with the kid. He probably reads seditious newspapers when he's not busy dropping the cat. I can't believe those rebels corrupted him.

Forking rebel scum.

In other, non-rebel-related news:

I've just recently decided something about people, and it's this: people care a lot about their crap. That's crap as in junk, not...whatever else the word crap can mean. If people are wandering around and they see some crap, they're like, "Oh, look! Crap!" but they don't do anything about it. The moment it becomes their crap, they care about it. "Look, here's my crap! Don't touch it! Jerk!"

So, in conclusion: people are overly protective of their crap.

Take that however you wish.

My walk home today was detained by several strange older men. Okay, Sam and Niraj. I wouldn't exactly call them men, but they're older than me and they're definitely strange. It was really amusing to talk to them, actually. I think it's because they're guys and they have vaguely perverted (sometimes more than vaguely...) guy perspectives on things. Or maybe it was just because we started playing that slapping game. You know, the one where you slap each other's hands until you give up? Of course, I wasn't playing. It's so barbaric! Everyone gave up on it pretty quickly and just started slapping each other.

I might secretly be a werewolf. Secretly to you, me, and the rest of the word. I wouldn't think that, but I keep getting strange scratches and having no idea where they came from. Oh well. At least this isn't like the time I looked down at my hand and realized I was bleeding. That was pretty bad. I hadn't even noticed...

I have decided that I love translators. This is not strange, because I fall in love with a different profession every week.

Professions I Love:

• Translating
• Video game design
• Web page design
• Author...-ing?
• Journalism
• Singing
• Songwriting
• Tile setting
• Animal training
• Costume design

And many more that I am (guess what?) too lazy to think of at this moment. I am going to mention my own laziness at least once every post, and if I can't think of a way to work it in, I'll just type it at the end. Anyway, it's pretty unfortunate that I have no talent at half those things. Sob, sob. Listen to my tears through your computer screen. ;_; See, that was a little sad face. I can use emoticons. I have the ability. I just, you know, choose not to.

Martial: pertaining to war.

There is no Spanish word of the day today. Ha ha, suckers. French is better anyway.

Oh no! War! War really messes up my vibe. My table in science class refuses to admit that our positive vibe exists. It does, darnit! They keep crushing it like I crush rebels, but it's there! Danny said to me, "Your positive vibe can go to--" but I said, "Danny!" in a very scandalized sort of way before he could finish his sentence.

I'm going to miss them, in a sick and twisted way. Them and their hobo-out-running, cursing, arguing selves. If you're reading this, Swagat, Niraj, Danny, Aaron, I love you all non-romantically and non-creepily, even though you kill my vibe. Please don't say you love me back. You know that creeps me out.

So I have nothing more to say now. Wait. Yes, I do. I have something vitally important to say.

It's not important at all. I lied. I just need to describe to someone, something, anyone! my terrible crash-and-burn on that forking oral report.

It was a little past eight on the morning of 03.06.09 (yay! Three six nine!) in the classroom of Mr. X. I am still protecting his identity. Yes. I had a report on the fine state of Arizona to give, and I thought I was prepared. Well, mostly prepared. I was still crossing things out and changing around my lines, but I figured I could do it.

He decided to have my group present first, and out of the four of us, he picked me to go first. Yay. I kind of started panicking. Okay, not kind of. I totally started panicking. It was almost as bad as those first few days after I got the hall ticket. (By the way, I can walk down the halls without panicking now! It's so exciting!) It was a combination of several things: my...slight...fear of speaking in front of people, Mr. X, and it being early in the morning.

I stood at the front of the room, clutching my notes and the microphone. I think I might have been shaking a little. Everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to start talking. I looked down at my notes...

And freaked. I froze up. I couldn't talk, couldn't move, nothing. I just stood there, trying to talk, but nothing was coming out. It was the kind of thing you read about and hope never happens to you. I started crying, actually, out of nerves and embarassement and who knows what else. Emotional overload, I guess. We sympathetic individuals (read: wimps) can only take so much of this. Our systems aren't meant to handle it.

I sat back down and refused to answer when he asked why I wasn't presenting. He moved on. The rest of the class stood up and presented. It went without a hitch.

I was kind of mad at myself for not being able to talk, but I couldn't do anything. It just happens. It's like that.

Such is the curse of being a socially inept, shy, sympathetic individual.

Lazy.

Only four English words end in -dous: tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous.

Isn't that just stupendous?

As of this very moment, I am listening to music, typing this post, watching my cat scratch herself, chatting on Facebook, and ditching jazz band. All at the same time! This is what we call multi-tasking, dear readers. I'm not very good at it, but I manage. Obviously.

I didn't blog yesterday because I was too lazy. I know I use that excuse a lot, but it's not just an excuse. It's the truth. Can the truth be an excuse? Wow, what a fascinating and pressing question. If I answered it, that would totally raise the profundity level of this blog.

The question now becomes: Do I want to raise the profundity level of this blog?

Of course I do! Did you think otherwise for even a millisecond? I'm ashamed of you. Gosh. Of course I want to raise my forking level of profound thoughts, if only just because I like the word 'profundity.'

The truth can be an excuse, because it all depends on the person who hears it.

Pretend you understand what that means. It'll make me feel better if you do.

Wow, I'm typing in sentences today, not paragraphs. Maybe I should type each sentence separately and make this post about a mile long and annoying to read. That would be fun! It would also kind of go against all my type like you mean it! English language rants...

The child has been waking up at the same time I wake up. Six-forty-five, but I usually don't stumble out of bed until at least six-fifty. He likes to wake up that early for some completely insane reason, even though his place of learning doesn't begin for another couple of hours after that. Every time I see him at the table next to me, I want to say, "Are you mad, child? Go back to bed!" Unfortunately, my mouth doesn't really work that early in the morning.

I wish I could sing. It's terrible, you know. I could write some lyrics, but they'd be useless because I couldn't write music to them and I can't sing them anyway. I get jealous of people who have skills that I don't. I'm just one of those easily jealous people.

People I am Jealous of:

• Singers
• Published novelists
• Small Asian figure skaters
• Figure skaters
• Hockey skaters
• Good dancers
• Really good clarinetists
• Really good instrumentalists
• People who are naturally graceful

And many more.

Before I forget, the Word! of! the! Day! Excessive punctuation! It's fun--for everyone!

Parry: deflect a blow.

And, to raise cultural awareness (I'm not sure how, but it sounds good), the Spanish word of the day!

Papel: paper.

Let's say, hypothetically, that you have a group of vampires. I say hypothetically because we all know that vampires are fictional. In my system we have vamps (dude vampires) and vampettes (chick vampires), because vampire just isn't gender-specific enough. Anyway, the vamp group. What would you call that? In Twilight, they're a coven, and I can't remember any names from other books. I like a clash of vampires or, like crows, a murder of vampires. Which do you like better, dear readers?

And yes, this is how I spend my time: thinking about names for fictional things.

Have fun with reality, infidels.

Forking heck in a handbasket.

Ignore the title. It was the first thing I could come up on such short notice (short notice being the two days I've spent on this post). I know I should have sat down and worked on it earlier, but I was sure you would all be too busy with your lives to notice that I skipped out on blogging for a day. Or two. They're beginning to blur together in my mind.

Today I am going to go more in-depth on the subject I know you're all dying to hear about: why Pseudocurses? I know it's very hard to type into the search bar every time you want to read my magnificent blog--don't worry, I have trouble spelling it, too. It's just one of those words. The e comes before the u, if that helps.

I don't believe that swearing should be against the law or whatever. I really have nothing against people cursing when they drop hammers on their feet or when they lose the competition they've been training for all summer. Those are legitimate reasons. I'm against people swearing every fourth word just because they can. All words have power, and profanity has more power than most. Using it over and over again makes it lose its meaning, and I don't think profanity should lose its meaning. It's called profane for a reason.

I try not to curse out loud and I do find it offensive. I curse when I write, because I feel like some of my characters would swear. To me, that's not the same; it's them, not me. I know they're figments of my imagination, but still.

So next time you feel the need to say ---- in front of me, please restrain yourself. I carry soap in my coat pocket.

I'm making a list today of names I really like. It's going to be amazing. I like a lot of names, but I'm really too lazy to think of them all right now. So this is more of a partial list. If you could open up my head and look inside, you'd see them all, but please don't. I'm not in the mood for a lobectomy.

Names I Really Like:

• Isabelle
• Tom
• Aethelfrith
• Jessica
• Suzannah
• Jezebelle
• Kaylan
• Soren
• Vyvyan
• Matthew
• Allison
• Katrine
• Valentine
• Bellatrix
• Liz
• Emily
• Juliette
• Yvette
• Noel

That's not counting things that are not names but are used as names, like Kashe or Butterfly. I like them, too.

Marker caps. Marker caps, also known as those little things you put on the end of markers, are very useful things indeed. Without them, markers would dry out and we wouldn't be able to use them. That would be sad, as markers are a staple supply for young children drawing stick figures. My main problem with marker caps is that you have to take them off before you can use markers. What's that supposed to be about? The things get lost so easily. You just put them down on the floor, and before you know it, they're halfway across the house under the sink. Evil but helpful. Isn't that how most things are?

I am too tired to write any more. This is because most of my blogging is done between the hours of 20:00 and 22:00. I should really blog earlier, but I'm lazy. Have I mentioned that I'm lazy? I'm lazy.

Goodbye, children of Earth.