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September 16, 2005

Hasenpfeffer Incorporated

It's Friday night and I'm sitting here updating my diary, for Chrissakes... Could there possibly be an even lamer way to spend the weekend?

I suck at life. But I'm sure you've figured that out by now.

I'm thinking about cutting up a bunch of magazines and sending someone a ransom note, just for kicks. And no, not something cheap (although hella cool in its own ridiculous way) like this. A real bonifide ransom note, the old-fashioned kind where you sat yourself down in front of a couple dozen backissues of Seventeen, Better Homes and Gardens, and Penthouse and come up with sentences MadLibs could've never dreamed up. You know, something like this:

Please leave three dozen ribbed salmon flavored condoms beneath the staircase and your breasts will increase a by full cup size or more.

Love,

Someone who does not go by the name of Jake Gyllenhaal. I promise.

Or:

Paris Hilton says to make me a sammich, bitch so that nobody gets hurt.

And maybe even this one:

Deliver twelve kilos of coke outside the McDonald's to the man eating a new delicious McGriddle breakfast sandwich. While supplies last.

::sigh::
Look at all the time I could be wasting...

posted at 9:29 p.m.

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