insomniac nutbag
I can't sleep. I tried. I hit the pillow and laid there. nothing. sometimes I hit it and I pass out with the same gusto as an anal train pullin' dame. not tonight though.
I am consumed with worry. hate that.
let's get random, shall we? maybe it will put me to sleep.
anna nicole's funeral. pink rhinestone casket pashmina. that's a little under-whelming, isn't it? I was hoping for something much more dramatic.
britney spears. on the lam from her overly pampered malibu "rehab" so she can pop by a friend's house for... clothing? does one think about jhushing while detox'ng? if so, I wonder if this joint is truly a sober centric destination or a glorified R&R for the-too-much-money-and-too-much-time, hot mess set. maybe she met a new white trash piece of ass that she wants to gussy up for. way to stay focused on your recovery, twitney.
well, peeps, I'm off to make myself horizontal again to see what happens.
sweet dreams...
Comments
(I like the Spawn best when they're snoozing!)
Bill Maher had the best line about Britney shaving her head: Finally the drapes match the carpet.
with about crushe up twenty darvocet.