texts: Now blah-blah-blah is all I do. I use my grand I.Q. to figure out what gloss to wear and how to hit three keggers before curfew. Some genius. </s> <s> Heather Chandler is one bitch that deserves to die. </s> <s> Killing her won't solve anything.
labels: A well-timed lightning bolt through her window and Monday morning, all the other heathers, shit, everybody would be cast fucking adrift.