Sunday, January 24, 2010



by Jane Austen

Hey, why the fuck do people fucking suck so much? Seriously, dude, this is giving the most serious deal of botheration.  Like this stupid mother fucker asking why people don't write long hand-written letters with a goose quill--what does this asshole think? That I enjoyed all of those long, lonely nights pouring my frustrated hopes and dreams into girlie books about meeting my dream man? I would have given my right tit for a Nintendo64--much less a PS3.  Of course we had no electricity so all I could have done would be to light a candle and write a novel about how I wish I had a 220 volt alternating current outlet so that I could play Donkey Kong.  Okay, it's getting dark now, and I really have to start a new chapter--it's about how this aging over-the-hill 30-year-old-matron finds love in a British country manor.  And if I don't have consumption by the end of  the year, it will have been a very good year after all.

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