Studies say you do not need breathing to live

It's been a flawless season. Yet when it matters, no one can help but screw up... Hard.



My teenage angst is summed up into a little piece of jewelery called the belly button ring. Not even always a ring but sometimes that little piece of chain that hangs in the general area. Never clear where it's attached, top, bottom, ribcage? I don't know. Really all this has just dawned on me. Being able to comprehend something while trying to write about it is hard, but just like everything else in my life I will wing it.

Shiny yet subtle the belly button ring tempts me with its overall elusiveness within the girls I've dated. When I come to think of it the only chick I had known all that well with a belly button ring was my Mom... Except the fact that hers went violent and started eating her stomach.

Belly piercings, if anything, have become the anti symbol to girls I want.

From what I know, two previous girlfriends have since gotten their stomachs pierced with an iron lance. In return I've been pierced in the heart with uhm... something made of pig metal probably. Probably the thing that gave my mom stomach bubonic plague.

So uhm there was an election? Because some one said Hillary and all I could think of was erection. lolololololololololololololol

It's almost three in the morning. My creative fuel is slowly dripping out of my rectum.



Damn near killed him.



Next article is about Dolemite.

For Black History Month yo.