07-11-2005

512) 2 Fast 2 Furious. Crap.

513) Mission to Mars. Blah blah blah blah blah De Palma blah blah blah talented blah blah wasted blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah Tim Robbins blah blah insufferable twat blah blah blah blah Cheadle blah blah blah as always blah blah blah blah blah not enough blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. HATE.

513 down, 487 to go.

I've been pretty good about biting my tongue. Really I have. But sweet fucking apples Britney, you married this? THIS? THIS? Really, I just can't fucking handle it. If you needed me to be more white trash I could have done it. I spend most of my nights sitting around in my boxers, sunglasses and cowboy hat looking like Bocephus and eating chili while watching TV so I don't know how much more white trash I could have gotten, but I would have tried. I WOULD HAVE TRIED. For you, Britney. Just for you. Because that's how much I loved you. But no more. I've said we are through before. I've said you are dead to me before. I've insisted that my friends refer to you as "She who is not spoken." But this time it's really over. For real. No more drunk dialing. No more fond remembrances. You're cut off! You've made your filthy, flea infested bed. Lie in it!