Jello

Girrrl, I know you di'nt say what I think you said.
Ma name iz Shontelle and immabout to wipe yo skinny white ass on da flo.
Girrl hold ma hooped earrings.





So yeah, if you haven't heard, I've finally decided that, I, am straight. On most occasions.


Oh, and my beautiful life sucks. Big time. But hey, at least I'm smart.


Oh wait, my CGPA dropped tergolek-golek last trimester. Haha.


Oh well. At least I'll do better this trimester.

But wait, have you met my friend, Mr. Mooting? Owh, no? Well this is Mr. Mooting. He doesn't know it yet, but he's gonna destroy my life. Yesterday, Mr. Mooting asked me a question. It was so fun!

How do you interpret interpretation?

OMG, soooo coooool.

My answer... Prepare yourself. Shocking.

Interpretation can be interpreted by interpreting the many forms of interpretation it has. According to the interpretation of interpretation, interpretation can be described by interpreting the interpretation interpreted through the interpretation of the interpretation of the interpreted interpretation of its many interpretations.





It's bull crap like this that really gets me thinking, what the effing hell am I doing with my life. While other 20 year-olds are being 20, I'm stuck being 45. Heck, I've actually got more issues than most 45 year-olds. The family crap, check. Trying to interpret interpretation, check. Financial instability, check. Reading thick, heavy, and artistically retarded books (refer to the covers of all our text books), check. Knowing the difference between the murder and culpable homicide, check. Knowing how to get a divorce, check. Tired of living, ch-ch-ch-check.


Truth is, my life isn't that bad. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's horrible and very, very unbearable. But it's actually quiet ok. I mean sure I may lash out and bitch about it, but I still want to live, and one day, see Kris Allen [lalalalala].

What the hell am I talking about. God, I should've have studied journalism instead. I mean, I'd like to think I would make a good writer.


"... and as I sat there, staring faithfully through the large glass window, with coffee in one hand, and the other pressed across my forehead, I began to question myself. Why can't I be like those people out there? That family looking ever so gay, and those group of homosexuals looking ever so gay. How gay it made me feel to see the the gayness spread across that gleeful day, with the shimmering lights shimmering as it shimmered across the shiny floor that shimmered. And then I saw it, that of what I have feared for for a lifetime of fear. My heart began to quietly whisper a loud scream. My body began to tremble as the sheer intensity of my tense vibes began to tremble the veins in my trembling body that trembled ever so violently. I wanted to scream aloud, inside my own secured mentality, so that no one would hear, as everyone listened. I gathered whatever courage my trembling body could offer, being the sole offeror of my offering self. I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU! YOU WILL NOT ASSAULT ME. TODAY, I FEAR NOT OF YOU, PERFUME AVENUE! ..."










Oh, now I remember, I suck at writing. So law it is... Mooting, and everything else it has to offer/offor.


Yay me!