Because this is who has commandeered my day:

An excerpt from a post from April 16, 2004:

I'm 90% sure this is the ugly, but smooth work of one nasty little PMS fairy.
god, I hate that bitch.
you do know her, don't you??
I'm sure you've seen her around...
crumpled looking thing, really.
flies buzzing around,
perpetual glare on her face.
laughing gas in a handy back pack.
her wings aren't even real--they're sewn onto her back, with sweater yarn.
her teeth are green...not from rot, just from sucking on too many sour apple ring pops.
she limps down the hall, dragging her other left foot--
the one that should be a right foot,
but could never be right, since it's 3 inches too long.
her striped tights,
with a hole in one knee--
not of the tights, either.
a hole in one patella.
it makes a swooshing sound when she walks (limps).
the rattling of her breath is only from the dreams she has so carelessly inhaled,
as she bent low over sleeping pre-menstrual women,
who would then wake in a dazey sort of confusion, grasping for something unknown, yet lost.
she was supposed to deposit them in a jar, like a dozen fireflies on a summer night,
but her smoking habit had cultivated in her the need for deeper breaths and quite by mistake, in they went.
dreams, trapped in one's lungs, have nearly the same sound as rusty nails in a bucket.
yes, the rust changes the sound.
you'll know her by the sound, if nothing else.

so, there you have it.
the little cunt is here.
somewhere.
lurking.
hissing, and spitting, as her oddly-strong patience wears thin.

Synopsis: Dead bird, sleep-deprived kids, "optional" final at a wretchedly inconvenient time tomorrow (when I thought it was going to be on thursday), and oh yeah--feeling whale-ish.

Tune in tomorrow for our regularly scheduled program...
aw, crap, that's braless tuesdsay.
psh.
we'll see about THAT.
(I only post them when I feel like it; i just usually feel like it)