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Hi, Bella here.
It's 2 am, and I just served myself my final drink.
I've drank a half a 5th of Calico Jack rum and root beer. In less than 2 hours.
I'm listening to DJ GroundZero's first show back and everyone is getting a bonus cuz I have a few people watching my drunk ass on cam, attempting to eat pop rocks, running into my own bedroom door, my father checking on me (my parents discourage drinking alone) and BLAMING IT ON FUCKING POP ROCKS. "Daddy, I dropped my pop rocks... everything's okay." "But I heard something go bump." "I hit my head on the desk." "Are you okay?" "yeah, I"m going to bed." and yes, I'm writing this drunk. BE PROUD.
I got autos running and I'm fucked up and I can't feel my fingers but they're still doing what my brain commands them Spike is recording our conversation -- FUCKING BRON JUST BUZZED ME.. FUCK YOU SEXYPIE. -- Anywho... I told Spike to save our convo... I really want him to be staff in GFR cuz that kid is fuckin AWESOME.
I'm so happy. But... then again, I'm drunk so I really can't feel anything.
Ironic? I think not.
Well.
Maybe.
Are you still reading my psychobabble? Fuck off. I'm wasted.
LOVE YOU GUYS.
-Bella
