02 mars 2005

Pooh

I don't want to go to work. I sooooo do not want to go to work.
Why can't I just take a sickie? Oh, 'cause I've got a conscience, that's right.
Bugger.
I want to stay home and veg about like any 32-year old trailer trash with badly bleached, badly permed hair* and a smoking habit.

* This is just an example. My hair is fine as it is. And some of my friends' is bleached and permed. They're still my friends.
No they're not.