I sometimes worry about myself when I read past pieces of writing, especially pieces that you don’t see on SLXS. The pieces that are stored on my desktop because I’m too scared to unleash them on the world. But I thought this was quite funny, because I have absolutely no recollection of writing it. Check this out for scary, it was entitled ‘Random’:

I could have a head transplant with Leighton Meester, but then I’d be cracking one off every 5 minutes to my own face. And that would be strange. But I’d like it.

Ha ha and the next thing my shipment of illegal Playstations doesn’t arrive in town!

What? Nothing, subject change. Absolutely brutal in here.

Is anyone else sweating like me? Seriously pass my Evian.

*Spritz spritz*

Divine darling!

No I feel refreshed now. Powder my nose. Much better skat!

Look the day catches up to you at nearly 1 am when you’re writing and not really thinking while listening to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack and trying to remember when school breaks up and if everyone still really likes Sparkles or should we buy sour worms or stretchy gummy snakes? But life is like that and there is pretty much no stopping a freight train full of crack cocaine. Andy Warhol said that, I’m sure of it.

Could have been Dom Nezbick, but at 1am I think Google is sleeping and you really should let the beasty lay low while in some sort of paranoid state like that. No point waking Google now, it’ll probably eat you.

WHAT…IS…GOING…ON?

Were you and me just typing together, with no clothes on? I don’t know if the 24 hour Woolworths is still open but driving there now is a bad idea, you never know what’s roaming the streets at these hours. Dogs out to kill, cats that want to slash your tyres while you drive and kill you, goats pissing in the road that cause your car to aqua plane. The thoughts of going out are enough to scare you into a life more ordinary instead of less ordinary.

Ha ha but that’s just me!

Should I be worried? Do we need a psychiatrist in here?

Is this real?