Yellow Discharge White Particles In Pee

50 - A gun and me alone... Let me collect dust.

"Just Because I Do not Say Anything,
Does not Mean I Do not Like You.
I open my mouth and I try and i try
But no words came out.

(...)

And besides your probably holding hands
With some skinny, pretty girl that likes to
Talk about bands and
All I wanna do is ride bikes with you,
And stay up late and maybe spoon."

TOUT SIMPLE MENT.

Humeur : Fatiguée de faire le yo-yo.
B.O. : Nothing came out - The Moldy Pe ac hes.
Pic: Post Secret.

Sweet Custom Bball Warm Ups

49 - Twist away the gates of steel.

A nail in hunting another nine yards. I do not want to piss me off to play without the leech than it ever worth the effort. I do not want to say goodbye but do not have much choice, there. So that's how it finished. Finished finished finished, and now I ENJOY (unless of course you say the right words, and you're doing the right things, and you put your eyes in my eyes as there is one which nzaine of days, but you will not do it, Jove) .

Good if not, my bug tracker to death, it has been months I have and I still have no hits. Yet I'm sure plenty of people who qu'y'a googlent "assholes", "I want to die", "I love him he is too good," "Miss Amanda," "I understood the lesson I will repeat not, "all that.
So I'm like I can with this tracker, and I enjoy combing through the tab "geolocation". There's something that bothers me. Who the hell lives in (or near) Yvette, in the center? I swear it stresses me out every day or almost Yvette Anybody who visits me and everything and I do not know who it is. Apart from the mysterious stalker Yvette I also Americans, Canadians, Brazilians, Belgians and of course (but that I know who I reckon it's finally, kind people who live their life through that of others). Brief.

So, you, who lives Yvette, you manifest. I am sure that it is actually not a stalker but it's a mystery (e) dude (ess) with the IP is based there and the coup that I "will fall down", but good. I like to think that j'intéresse strangers.

Mood: I want, thank you.
RB: Gates of Steel - Devo.
Pic: Jonnie Craig.

Ramipril And Back Pain

48 - Garçon ! Un double triangle équilateral s'il vous plait.

PoPoPo Friends, last night was to be the evening of tuberculosis, it did not happen. We had originally planned to go to Regine, in Crimea possible, and dressed in our finest dresses (or not). Unfortunately for us, after long hours of waiting outside the club, completely fastened to each other, we were not always entered. Fuck 'em, go to Tania.

Tania, 0:30 am, empty rooms. "Rich Girls" sounds, bim, it does tilt. A few sips of rum later and here we are on track (ouuuuuuh). Was it well. A few minutes later, all the recalibrated Regine finally decide to come to this club kitsch. There are too many people, it's drunk, it's fatigue. And if you come home?
Finally, no. The house, it will not for now, enjoy the evening. Girlfriend and myself Hail to half a billion taxis, none of them take us as they are "all" caught. So we find nothing better than to keep walking, singing to warm the Stripes and yelling "PÉÉÉÉÉDÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ!". We arrive gradually Rue de la Madeleine. "Oh but it's really not far from Truskel! Come on, let's go, ranafout. We're gone. It was full of bullets, the redneck, the regulars were absent, which was surely a good thing. The main thing that was cool.
Finally, we ended the evening in Austria, an express trip unorganized totally improvised. His sixth journey to her, my 19th. One would be much like tides, especially given the delicacy and tact of the Austrians! The least we can say is that they transcend the limits. Yes, yes. Alcohol teach me something useful: I speak a presqu'excellent English when I'm soaked, while sober, it's total darkness.

This article was full of private jokes, most of you should understand anything, and I 'm sorry.



Mood: better.
RB: My ride for me - Edith Piaf.
Pic: Luca Gabino.

Poptropica Games.ccom

47 - You never hold me like your little piece on the side.

Something has changed. I became apart, put me on the low side, I have the impression of being in the race. I was dumped on a motorway. I feel totally isolated. We do not care what I feel, no more invites me to parties and even the most simple questions, I am invariably the last to know everything, you do not listen to me when it will not, in fact we do not notice when it goes wrong. You argue with your eyes closed, guided by I know not what. You do not see when I call-rescue when I'm on the verge of irreparable harm, you hear nothing. Not even a whisper. I have the unpleasant impression that everybody was dropped, and I do not know what is the reason. I feel like shit in the air, from far away and alone, without giving further (anyway we do not ask me), leave all these people in their quiet little life shit. I'm in a period where I need to be surrounded, smothered limit not to die, and you're just the opposite. You all turn me back, everyone has a different degree. You prefer your new friends to your old girlfriend, you act as if it does not matter to me. I'm not jealous, I just do not want to fall in your esteem for no reason, I do not want to take my place, that place, I fought for it, fought with myself and lose it would be an overall failure.
I would like to limit all let you down before you do it. This will do less harm. I'll do it someday. When you never hear from me, you understand.
This is by no means the paranoid. It's much too recurrent to be. If the idea that it can be went through your mind, then I think you really have nothing SEIZED. We have nothing to say.
Still glad I Miss Amanda.


Mood: as the straw in the desert, so cliche.
RB: Eyesight To The Blind - Placebo.
Pic: Magdalena Fischer.