Dearest blog,
On my way home from the high school campus today, I was blaring the 300 soundtrack from my shitty Explorer, windows down.
There was a group of chatty sophist bitches; you know the type: fluffy boots, oranged make-up skin, slightly teased hair, cellphones, bubble gum, and enough lip gloss to glaze a holiday ham.
Returns a King (track 4, for those who are curious) began to play, heralding my approach. These snooty bitches were congregated right in the center of the parking lot, proving a hindrance to my leaving. The clouds seemed to part, and Zeus himself shone light upon a massive puddle, directly adjacent to said bitches.
Time slowed.
My wheels seemed to spin in place as I brought my mighty Ford chariot around the bend, as the chorus reached full timbre. A crescendo of sound and screams mingled into one shining moment as a tidal wave of dirty water was brought down upon their ranks. They were bested and shamed, reduced to the true filth that they were beneath their lacquered appearances. Heads turned; onlookers gawked.
My mighty Spartan laughter echoed from within my vehicle as I sped away, roaring in amusement.
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great taste in music and a talented writer? sir. you are a man of many talents :D haha.
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