plastic cups

I really hate that I didn't type anything up yesterday. But I was doing productive things. Like going to White Castle at five o' clock in the morning, and throwing salt into people's eyes. Oh...and I took a bunch of garbage and threw in onto some girl's car. She totally deserved it. Sorta. Or maybe she didn't.

And I'm pretty sure I'm going to a DnD party tonight. Yes, I play Dnd. I am a bard! I play guitar and sing and things!

So I got a new back window for my truck! Exciting?! Yes? No? Fuck you then.

I had an entire pallet of words and ideas that I wanted to regurgitate back onto here, but I have since, lost all of of it. Can I live?

Also...

Fuck you, people who ride my ass on I-65. I'm in the far right lane, going the speed limit. Fuck you.

I wish I had more interesting things to tell you.

I love that I have attractive girly friends. Thank you ladies. I love all of you. Well, not ALL of you. Most of you.

I feel like I'm trying to write like Taylor Wicker. Which isn't so bad. I love how she writes. And I'm not original. Nor am I able to function without plastic cups. I love plastic cups.

Dave: So what's up? You say listen here c--- sucker, what the fuck?
Caleb: You've lost me dude.
Dave: No. Just think, the phrase, listen c--- sucker, what the fuck?
Caleb: Dave, what the fuck are you talking about?
Dave: *fist bump* You da man.
Caleb: Thank you, Dave?
Dave: *eats more chicken* Fucking black cab driver, doesn't know who Lenny Kravitz is!
Caleb: I'm leaving Dave.
Dave: Hey mister cab driver, fuck you, ima survivor!

I love my uncle Dave.

And plastic cups.

My next blog will be more productive.