[  Mood: Sick ]
[ Currently: Not eating any more candy ]
You know that part of Farenheit 451, where the firefighter’s wife has to get stomach pumped because she took too many mind numbing medications? Like, she took a pill, forgot that she took it, then took another pill, forgot that she took it, then took another pill, over and over again. Well, I did that, but replace the word "pill" with "several pounds of candy." I believe that I’m about to slip into a chococoma, the most delicious of all deadly ways to enduce unconsciousness.

Oh, man, I had door duty this year, too. There’s going to be a lot of disappointed kids who won’t be getting tootsie rolls this year. And I’m on the second floor, too – that’s a lot of steps to scale for nothing.

Worst of all, my hallucinations are mocking me. I nod off to sleep a little, and here comes that Goddamn sarcastic red M&M, messing around on my laptop, deleting my porn and laughing. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find futanari in English? Bastard.

I need to friggin barf already, but the candies are happy where they are. All that Mr. Goodbar is really going to leave a stain on the toilet bowl. I am an orbital poop rail gun, waiting to be hijacked by terrorists in space, and tested on some camp site in the middle of nowhere as a show of force to the president. That could’ve been Washington, Mr. President! Do something! Yes, I’m watching a Steven Seagal movie.

Seriously, screw that guy.