Four of Them

I mean, really. No reviews for, like...a week or something. Why do you put up with me, dear people? I offer nothing but heartache and poor organization skills.

But I have excuses! Oh, so many! I've been watching both seasons of Black Butler, which is awesome in part because it brought about this:


And one day I'll find a person who loves it as much as me, and we'll talk about it, and then I'll write a thing about it here, but probably not.

I've been prepping for Andy's A Life in Movies blogathon, which you'd think would be easier since I only have to work from 1994. But it's not. It's annoying.

I've got to write a ten-paragraph rough draft of my Nikola Tesla paper, which should be awesome, because nikolateslafuckyeah, but I'm faced with the hell-double-dildo of parenthetical citations and turnitin.com, the worst invention by man ever, including that whole socializing thing and Claire's perfume. In short, I've written two-ish paragraphs for thing that's to be submitted at midnight tomorrow, forcing me to print whatever I had out and work on it all tomorrow/today in order to have it done so I may have time to submit it to Wretched Teacher Website From The Devil's Ass, and then I'll have ample time to try and fix all the so-called plagiarism the website has found in my paper, and the odds are against me, because FIVE MILLION PEOPLE HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN ABOUT THE SAME GODDAMN THING OF COURSE THERE'S GONNA BE SOME REPEAT INFORMATION but of course why should you care, my loves? Enjoy your stupid lives. I'll be here, hoping I don't fail high school and become anything but a Finnish hobo, because Finland doesn't have standardized testing.

I'm also now moved from my comfortable seat, where I could move easily to the door, see the board, and answered to no man about my shoving their long-ass hair off my goddamn desk, I'm now in the kind-of back, can't see a damn thing, can't move out of the particular cluster of desks, and I'm behind a girl so fucking annoying I will die of something related to cutting off her hair, which she flips all the goddamn time, never stops flapping her mouth, FUCK HIGH SCHOOL REALLY JUST FUCK IT.

To reiterate:


But my grandparents are coming for a funeral. I must prepare my room to my mother's liking, to which I reply with slightly modified Ron Weasley speak: "Are they going to be sleeping in my room?"

(That quote was originally "Are they getting married in my room?", and it was much funnier, but fuck you, I have my reasons)

Now let's all have a group prayer that I don't go back in time to get the Death Ray from dear Nikola and kill all them bitches.

Oh, and now I'll be a walking zombie of sleep deprivation and the horrors of caffeine pills. Good fucking night.