Awake

2:57. I bet that fucking washing machine is a lot more sane than I am.

The only thoughts that sonuva' bitch is having is how fucking fast he needs to spin, and how goddamn warm the water should be.

Or maybe, he's laughing his ass off at the idiot freshman who missed his girlfriend's red thong hidden in his pile of whites, and has to go to his next summer internship interview with Citigroup in a fucking pink shirt. Either that or the Asian fuck is so neurotic he gets his ass up at 6 AM to go down and wait for the GAP to open so he can buy a brand new fucking shirt. And all the while he's freaking his ass out and pissed at his girlfriend, the poor bitch. And he forgets that he's only fucking 18 and that nothing really fucking matters until you've hit 27.

Or maybe he's pissed at the dryer, that lazy fuck. Least he gets to stay dry all the fucking time. Plus he gets to sniff that Bounce shit all day and night, fucker probably gets baked off his boxy, spinning ass from that crap.

Jesus, you need some sleep.

And why would Jesus need sleep? The Son of Fucking God needs to sleep?

You're at the point where you're confusing yourself with Jesus, and not that ugly fucker John Turturro plays in The Big fucking Lebowski, you're actually going for our Lord and Savior. Go to fucking bed.

Fuck you.

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3:41. Come get your fucking clothes dipshit.

Fuck off, I was just about to doze off. Was having a nice fucking dream too. Angelina Jolie, strip poker, she had this thin-ass nightie on, and I was sporting a massive fucking hard-on. She had the fucking sexiest fuck-me look you could ever imagine... You'd better promise me I get to have that dream again when I'm done with you, asshole.

I'm the fucking washing machine, ask the dryer.

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10:27. Forget me, go to class. I'll keep your shit warm for now.

Fuck that, this math class is bullshit anyways. I can't fucking handle the fucking idiot Asian chicks in the back, chattering away about their goddamned boyfriends. And the fucking professor doesn't have the balls to tell them to stop, he just asks "Do you understand?" over and over, as if he's trying to tell them a fucking message with that weak ass shit. And the cunts don't get shit, 'cuz come next Thursday before that quiz, guess who'll they'll come running to for fucking answers? And you know what's worse, the last time I could only get that one slut to give me a handjob for all my trouble, can you imagine that? Fucking whores.

You need to chill man. Talk to the washer, he knows some people. Could probably get you some Prozac that someone left in their pockets.

Ah fuck drugs. My crap's gonna get wrinkled if I don't take it out now anyways.

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3:40.

"WAKE UP, FUCKER!"

"Fuck off jackass... I need some damn shut eye."

"I know, I was just messin' with ya', you're a fucking mess dude."

"Yeah? So's your mother. At least when I left her last night, she was."

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Wow. That was like a spontaneous diarrhea of piss-poor blog material, especially after a month-and-a-half long hiatus. Jesus.