Yes. She is.
On this blog of mine, I may, on occasion, paint her in a less-than-flattering light. Sometimes stupid, sometimes fussy, sometimes bitchy. But that is irrelevant. Mostly because I ran out of adjectives.
My dearest sister is the smartest, coolest person in the state, at least. She straightened her hair and did not immediately become a traitor asshole. She has more piercings in her ear than hair. She's a lover of all, black, white, Chinese, a lovely grapefruit. She may read books that I find, among other things, legally retarded, but dammit, she's funny.
She's also prettier than all them bitches in our school. Mostly because she doesn't have monstrous amounts of eyeliner on. But also other things!
She does to eyebrow piercings what Lil Wayne does to pot. She is also a juvenile delinquent, and will most likely die like Bonnie or Thelma and Louise. She is a connoisseur of zombies. And Johnny Depp's fedora.
A Johnny Cash lover, a T-shirt maker (which she'll totally make on demand, which is pretty hilarious on occasion), a ninja, doodler of grotesque imagery, an old-fashioned gal who still believes mixtaps are the highway to her man's heart, proprieter of over 10,000 IPodly songs, a girl who made me a CD collection all my own, who bought me a badass mustache keychain, lover of Clint Eastwood and Ennio Morricone, obscure languages that she doesn't know, a signer of the Jane Austen Stephen King Marriage Proposal Petition, Neil Gaiman BFF, and she's secretly Jesse James (the outlaw, not the husband) (which is the name of her English paper).
Yup. Rockstar, scientist, lover of women. Probably dozens. Not that she's a lesbian, boys. Artifical ginger, piercer of body parts, hers only half the time. Warrior-poet. Honorary Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Executioner of all peace-sign offenders. Polite anarchist. But two minutes older than me. Failure of life. David Lynch's muse. Book blogger. Lizard. Wearer of boots. These boots were made for walking.
Photographer of lovers, only mid-coitus half the time. Proud owner of a perfectly healthy sense of eyeballs. Saucy. Cult member.
Sure, her knowledge of film is based solely around what I tell her, and her obsessive love of Four Brothers is rather embarrassing for me, but dagnabbit, she's me sister, and I love the bitch!
Yes. She is.