Mad Town.

These are some images from when I was in Madison.
Am I going to post all of them because I think that I am the greatest photographer in the entire world?
Yep.

HOW CUTE (:

My tat. Like hours after I got it done.

Awesome.

T-man (Tristan) looking at the merry go round after we had finished eating at Elles Deli.
 YUM.

And now not so silhouette-y. (:

Mighty mouse flyin' over my head while I ate a vegetarian pita wrap?

Fuck Yeah.

This was this toy machine thing that you peered into and you pressed a button and lights 

strobed and the little clowns whirred in a circle throwing their pins.It was realllyy fast. And I was trying to catch the movement and the chaos in one still image. This was the best Icould do.

Also. I hate clowns.

And that is the max ammoun tmy blog will let me upload. Woop woop.

"Your cat only likes me because I have a girl cat."

"My cat is much better than that and doesn't even like other cats. Besides your cat is a whore."

Meow.
   /\__/\
 (='v'=)

27 Dresses and free breast implants.

So Here are some cool dresses that I would really enjoy having in my closet.















^^ MY second favorite dress of them all!


^ MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE DRESS,








Also if your looking for someone who will pay for you to have free breast implants
AND you're looking for love,
look no further for I have found a dating site for you!

CLICK FOR FREE BOOBIES.

Also,
last night I painted my ode to Audrey Kawasaki,
you might remember that blog that I made that had some interesting images that she had painted.
Well this is my half assed (half assed because when it came to the hair i was sleepy and quit early. and made it kinda shitty. But i'm my own worst critic right?)




Though parts of it came out A LOT better than I had thought they would.
Like that heart.
damn check that out yo.
It's a nice heart.
and her lips i fucked up on.
But look at that nose! cute (:
But Yeah, So basicaly I'm the shit.
(Gotta love my ego.)

Also also also.
WHERE IN THE WORLD IS (carmen san diego?) MY MOTHER?
Dude, she seriously like fell off ofthe face of the earth.
I have no idea where she is.
no one does.
and the only personthat i kno that she is talking to doesn't even know where she is
and her phone is off
and idk.
scary shit man.
where is she?
Mostly i'm curious because she has my license, my social security card, and my debit card (which has like two dollars on it, but hey. that's still my two dollars or whatever is on there!)

Should I start my goodbyes now or later?

Sadly, as I read more and more about my absolute favorite authors; Kafka, Hemmingway, Plath, Puzo, you know the greats.
I'm seeing a trend.
Not only in solitude, but also in suicide and emotional disorders.
Maybe you don't choose to be a writer, maybe writing chooses you.
And then later kills you.
Or maybe it's all of your dead characters getting their revenge on you for killing them.
Maybe.'
I'm so full of maybes today.
Maybe I'll stop.

Maybe, My Slump is gone.

New Plot idea.
Here's an overview.
Tell me what you think!


Jack Tommins is an average guy. He has an average office job. He lives an average life. Except that he is full of greed. He sees things on other people. He wants them. He sees things in windows. He covets them. He sees things. He takes them. Jack has an entire house full of things that he does not need. He has rooms full of things he doesn't even know he has.
On an average day, this average man with the average job and the average life notices a homeless man on the side of the road who warns him of his greed, and warns him of spots that will appear and take over his life if he does not rid his life of greed. Jack believes this man is crazy as he buys himself a nine dollar cup of coffee. Later that morning he notices a dark spot upon the top of his right hand. He washes it away, thinking nothing of it. Later that day at the office a coworker points it out. He claims it is an ink spill, and wipes it away once more.
On his way home he stops at the same coffee shop and buys himself another nine dollar cup of coffee. The Homeless man lays on the corner dead. Jack dismisses it, and believes the man had it coming to him.
He continues to wipe away the spot for the rest of the night as he buys things on the shopping channel, and online.
The next morning he is covered in the dark mark. His body has aged and he finds taht he is starving, but no food can fixate his hunger. His body wants to be filled with goodness, but Jack does not realize this and only fills his body with more things and greed.

Ken Jeong. My inspiration for life.

I don't read GQ.
I'm not a gentleman. Not even quarterly.










God.
I love asians.

Introducing. Educating.

Urban legends, rural legends, folk medicines, you’ve probably heard about tons of such things over the years.


 True or, more likely, untrue events and cures which may, but probably don’t, have legitimate and verifiable 


scientific bases for capturing the imagination and curing medical symptoms. No, this isn’t a rant about 


people’s odd beliefs or half the shows on the Syfy Channel. It’s merely an introduction to the latest dubious


 medical craze in Indonesia. It seems folks in that country are intentionally trying to electrocute themselves on 


railroad tracks in the belief that it will cure various diseases, both mental and physical. It is a new trend which 


Indonesian government officials are trying desperately to stop before it causes a wave of accidental deaths. 


This railroad shock therapy started, as such things always do, with a rumor that a man who actually tried using 


train rails to commit suicide ended up having his paralysis and chronic depression shocked away by the 


electric current in the tracks. Although this miraculous tale cannot be verified, it has spread all over Indonesia 


and given people the courage to try electrocution by rail in order to cure everything from sleeping disorders to


 diabetes. In our book, this is just crazy stuff, and a greater risk to human life than the legendary poodle in the 


microwave.













I have bad study habits.
And I have bad doing homework habits.
Maybe I have ADD.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Maybe, because I'm here. When I'm really interesting in what I'm reading, but here I am
typing about boring things.
Though, I want a WHOLE tree full of these lightbulb things.
how pretty would that be?
I want an inside tree for my bedroom now.
So I can hang these things.







HOW CUTE.


Ugh. I used to doodle and scribble, now it seems all I do is type and stare.
Where has all of the creativity gone?




I'm going to learn french. I'm not sure how yet, but I'm going to.
I'm going to find someone or someting to teach me french.
And I'm going to be bomb at it.
C'est La Vie.
Right?







I ask myself this everyday.









Uhmmm. 
I think this is how the next Morgan is going to look.
cause this babe is hot.












Yesterday my cousin said to me, after seeing my tattoo, "Morgan. You're so crazy."


Maybe I am. I could quite possibly be crazy.
Or maybe, I'm just a free spirit.
I like that answer the best.






Oh my gosh.


So does anyone remember reading those Series of Unfortunate Events books?!


I just now, after intensive fifth grade or whenever googling, found out who Lemony Snicket truly was.


Daniel Handler.










Shit.


I think I might get a tumblr.


FUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKKKK

I'm Celibate by choice.

I really am.
Don't believe me?
Go suck a lemon.

But if I ever decide to not be celibate anymore, which I'm totally not feelin' is going to be any time soon,
this is going to be my rule of thumb so to speak.



I thought it was funny.


And part of me feels like some people won't think this blog is as funny as I do.
But it's funny, and serious all at the same time. Pretty cool eh?



Do you think that if I live by this rule books will be cool again?

If not I'll be stuck with kids like this for the rest of my life.


Not complaining.

But then if I go down that route of lovin' people we'll become like this.

I don't like "this"

This seems to sum up how I feel. The moment she speaks, the woman in this movie, it's beautiful.
(this movie is 2 days in paris. you should netflix it. because it's a great movie. and this is my favorite part)

Which makes me think.

I want to play call of duty. Because I really like playing call of duty. Even though I suck.
And it's complicated and scary. I still like it.

I LOVE SALVADOR DALI.

My absolute favorite piece by him is Les Elephants. Don't know?
Then you should google the shit out of that, because it's so graet.
^^wow morgan. great sentence.

And I desperately need this shirt.






"A tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men."


If I ever make babies. (which is weird to be saying in a blog titled "I'm celibate by choice")
THIS IS GOING TO BE MY BABY.

HOW FRICKEN CUTE.
ALright.
I'm going to bed.

No Lies. Just Love.

So, I got a tattoo.
Yes I surely did.
Its on me forever.
And yet, it was the most impulsive thing I have ever done. Truly it is.
I did not know that it was the title of a bright eyes song.
And I really like Bright eyes.
But i found out that it was the title of a bright eyes song.
So I listen to the song (and if you're listening to the song posted above ^^ so are you.)
And I realized, wow. This is like my song to myself.
(And all of the other people who feel this way)
And that even though I'm listening to this song for the first time, and maybe it's because it's already permanentaly on my skin, I feel like this song means a lot to me.
Like, it's my song. It was written for me.
It's beautiful.
And I love my tattoo. (Which is a good thing, you know?)
But, I'm just in a weird nostalgic mood. Where everthing is good.
You know?
I'm going to go paint.
Because I've sketched out two paintings on these nice canvases I got for my birthday.
So far. I've got some sick things going on.
one is my own rendition of this artist Audreys Kawasaki's work and the other is
a kokeshi doll (which is this little asian doll thing. it's cute)

Here are some beautiful artworks of Audrey Kawasaki!

Warning: Audrey Kawasaki does do provocative artworks, tame nudity, and gay themes. Just warning you. It's beautiful all the same. 









I think that she is a genius. 

I talk to myself. A lot.

I imagine conversations with myself. And with imaginary people. In imaginary situations.
Today's imaginary conversation.

"Listen kid, I didn't get to the top because I'm good at what  I do. I got to the top because I'm fucking great at what I do. I didn't follow the rules. i didn't pussy foot around and wait for people to tell me that I did a good job.I know I did a fucking great job. I don't do things by the books so I don't get book results. I get my results. And my results work. Because i"m the best. Because I don't give a fuck about what anyone but you and me have to say. Get it? What matters is that you and I have an understanding of what we're doing. And if we like it. Then fuck everyone else. Because we're right."

I'm not going to say who in my head said this or why they said this.
They just did.

Am I going insane?
Or am I possibly the only person in this world who has any clue as to what's going on?

cheveux rouges

I hate that moment when you're about to google something and then you get distracted by other internet, and when you remember that you were googling something you forgot what you were going to google.
It was important too...
It will come to me.

So. I'm always changing. I'm a chameleon in my own right basically. I'm never the same for too long.
And now,
I'm red hair.
I'm ginger morgan.
What does that mean? Well I think it means that I've become souless bitch morgan, but others disagree.
It means that i've become "I'm going to tell it like it is, and say it how I want to say it." Morgan.
Which is kind of refreshing.
It's a huge giant leap up from what I used to be, or act.
Or this whole new persona thing could be stemmed from my tattoo.
I have one now.
And i think that I'm just going to admire everyone elses tattoos and be done. This is all that I want.
But it's kind of given me thiss whole, "Fuck yeah. I'm baddass as hell." persona. Which is a good bad thing.
Good because,well I need to be those things and speak up and just be who I am. (Insiiiiiddeee <- Pocahontas) bad because. well. Just think if you thought that you were the shit 24/7 and saidwhat you just plain ol' thought in your head. Hm. how could that be a bad thing?
but even though I'm on this whole, "Hellz yeah bitches, guess what's on my mind." there are still filters set up in place. And these filters are always on. Because if I let these filters down, then well.
There would be some awkward, but great moments.
Or maybe, I'm meant to just say exactly what's on my mind.
But words create actions.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."
"Actions speak louder than words."
And if no one is going to remember what I say, then they're going to remember how i said it and
how it made them feel.
And feelings are things I worry about every day.
But I'm redhead morgan.
I'm fucking awesome.
Right?
Maybe.
But I'm going to try and keep red head morgan around for a little longer,
she seems to get shit done.
And she likes getting shit done and telling people how it is.
It gives her a rush.
And I need to stop talking about myself in third person.
It's weird.



^^ It's tagalon for freedom or liberty. It's pretty sweet. Not for me though.


Found him! (;

Je l'écris, vous avez bien lu.

These dreams in my head are free,
But to touch the mere skin holds a fee.
This isn't a rhyme to pass by the time in which
I'm always waiting for thee.
Shakespeare would have killed us off by now.
Hemmingway would have laughed and scoffed at our situation,
and then steal the idea and write about it.
Anne Rice would have made us sexy and doomed.
But I?
I write simply but for you.
I dream of things that I wish were true.
I imagine, somteimes my life with you.
And as each step we take in the same direction,
brings us atleast three steps away from any connection.
This human connection of love and lust and this reality of us.
And I don't know if your eyes are sewn shut,
if your pupils exist,
but I pray,
that they see me,
that they see this beast, this elephant in the room,
that awaits us for tea.
So we sip, sip, sip, sip.
Because we're not going to leave.




“We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families, and our friends, and even the people who aren’t on our lists, people we’ve never me but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe.”

I will try.

Dear Blog,

I’m sorry that I’m putting restrictions on you. I apologize, I mean I should know better. But it seems that I don’t know any better. Because I’m so used to juts writing everything down. All of my feelings, and thoughts and ideas. Because it makes me feel better once it’s documented. You know?

It makes me feel better that there is someone who will just listen. I don’t want to tell people my life story and have them be all, “Alright. Well this is how we fix it.” I just want to tell someone about it. I mean, yeah these thigns should be fixed.  They should be different from how they are, but I just want someone to understand that when I’m not smiling, or when I’m lost in thought or grumpy or just anything that it could be because of something going on in my life. Like I don’t know. My  dog dies, so I’m sad. Yeah,I want to tell someone about it. I want people to know that I’m grieving the loss of someone close to me, but I don’t want them to be all, “Alright well this is what we’re going to do next. We’regoing to have a funeral, so you get closure. Then we’re going to write poems about how great your pet was and then we’re going to burn them and let the ashes float into the abyss which your pet is now in.”

NO.

I don’t want that. I want you to be all, “Well. I’m sorry Morgan. *hug* It will be okay. If you need anything, I’ll be here, okay?” To which I will reply, “Okay.” And I’ll make a measly smile and sniff a little bit. And until I tell you I want to fix it, that’s all I want.

So lately I’ve been pressured by someone close to me. Pressured to do what? Someone wants you to smoke? No. Drink? No. Hardcore drugs? Absolutely not. Sex? Not even that.  Then what?

Getting better.

Well why is that a problem?

Because I’m an addict. Not like a drug, alcohol, sex, adrenaline, candy, whatever addict.

I’m an addict by my own rights. I’m an addict that’s addicted to this thing. And this thing, is my monster. And I’m addicted to it. I’m not ready to take care of it.

My monster messes things up for me. It makes me absolutely uninterested in everything. It makes me so sleepy I’m practically comatose. It makes me so awake I’m an insomniac. I’m lethargic, I’m hyper. I’m all over the place. I’m so happy I don’t know what to do besides just scream and laugh. I’m so sad that the smallest thing makes me sob for hours. It’s a monster. It’s my monster.

Well Morgan that sounds horrible, why are you addicted to it?

There’s more to it than the mood swings. It’s bigger than the mood swings. I blogged about it once. This self-mutilating problem.  I haven’t . In a long time. But what is a long time? Depends on how much attention you pay. But it’s been a long time.

But it’s an addiction, just like any other addiction. I know it’s bad for me. But I don’t care. I don’t care that if I *could die. I don’t care that it leaves these things on my body which are everyday reminders of who I was or who I am. I just do not care. And maybe that’s what I’m addicted to. This idea of not caring. And it might seem like I’m pining for attention via blog. But I’m not.  Earlier this year Demi Lovato came out about her addiction. And I was really mad. I was disgusted with the idea of being open about it like she was. And I voiced my opinion to my aunt. And she shot back with (and this isn’t verbatim) “You do it too.” Or something like that. It made me mirror myself onto the television screen. And I thought about it. Why did it bother me so much that this Disney star was so open about it, and yet I hated the very fact that I have told people in my family about this? And I think I know. Because, I’m not ready to come to terms with it. I’m not ready to admit that I have a problem. And mostly, because with her problem she had a whole support group cheering her on to get better. Mine was swept under the rug. Even after repeats of what had happened. And trust me, even though I told someone about it because I wanted to get help, does not mean that I stopped right away. It’s a stress reliever. It releases endorphins into your system. It’s like writing. Once it’s out there, it’s out. I have no idea if any of that even makes sense to anyone but myself, but it does to me. And that’s what matters, right?

But I don’t want attention because of this. I don’t want people to worry. Because for me it’s about the control. I like having control over this. I like to know that I can do it whenever I want, whether I do it or not. I’m in control. It might be a teenager thing, to be in control or want to be in control because we’re mini adults we just don’t have all of the same privileges as being an adult. And so we try to get as much control as we can. And this is a piece of control that I use as a crutch. The fact that I could if I wanted to. But I haven’t and I don’t. But I don’t want attention because of it. I don’t . In middle school there were all of these girls (why only girls? I don’t know. But girls.) were running around school flashing these scratches on their arms, stomach, legs, everywhere. And they were all “Oh woe is me. Look how sad I am?”. Maybe they were sad, maybe they were looking for the same thing I was looking for. Maybe they were searching for some type of control just like me. They just had other ways of doing it. But it made me so mad watching them exploit their monsters when I hid mine from the world. When I was screaming inside for someone to just grab me and shake me and say, “Morgan! What are you doing?! It’s going to be okay!” Maybe that’s what I’m searching for now. For someone to just grab me, shake me and tell me it’s going to be okay and that I don’t have to worry anymore.

I remember the first time I saw someone do this to themselves. I was in third grade. It was my best friend Becky. And I was confused as to why she would do something like that. And she said it was because she was fat. She wasn’t fat. Not at all. But it scared me. It was on her hand. Maybe that’s where I got the idea. Somewhere in the recess of my mind it said, “Morgan. This is how you fix your problems. Just like this.” And I was like, “Yeah. This works, kinda. I’m in control. I do what I want.” But it doesn’t work. Though, at the same time it does. I’m not saying DO IT. I’m saying the opposite, DO NOT DO THIS. It’s horrible. It’s not right to do. No one should ever do it. Even if I say that it works kinda, because when I did this I felt like my mind was so clear and my thoughts so vivid and I felt like I was unstoppable every time it happened. But that’s not true. Every mark pushed me one step back. One step behind of growing. But I didn’t see that. I didn’t understand that this monster didn’t help me. I didn’t know .

I’m not even sure if I know now.

I’m going to stop talking about this though. I just thought I could explain to you something. I don’t even remember why or how I became to start blogging about this.

It just happened.

You wanna know what else just happens?

Love.

Whether it's real or not. 

It happens.

And even though you don't want it to.

It does.

And sometimes I just want to punch it in the throat. 

This is the end.

You know, I thought that this would last longer than that.
I really did .
But it seems that it never does.
And I'm not mad.
Not at all, I'm just sad that this might be the very last post, until I figure out how to make this a safe place for
me to just spill it all out.
Because I don't have anywhere else to just spill it all out.

Haters Gonna Hate.

Oh my gosh.
So my stomach bubbles a lot sometimes when I eat,
and I'm watching this "webinar" for one of my classes, and I forgot that my volume was really
quiet and so there was sounds coming out sort of like the bubbling of my stomach, but they were reallly weird bubbling noises, and so i was getting freaked out because some of my stomach bubbles sounded like words.
It. Freaked. Me. Out.
My stomach should not be so knowledgeable in world history.

So You know I've made some questionable decisions in my life (not my tattoo. that is a good decision. I know it's going to be permanentally on my body for the rest of my life, but it means a lot to me) but that doesn't mean people can outright judge me on the little decisions that I make. (still this part of this blog has nothing to do with my tattoo. so don't even think about that.) And I know that I migh've judged some other people in my life for making decisions like living in my closet *not naming names.* but it's not like I'm making those kinds of decisions. I'm just thinking out loud (via blog?) about how sometimes I make decisions and in the eyes of people around me or actually one person right now, maybe two or three, or four (or it could be everyone in that entire house) I'm making the wrong decisions. And they don't even take the time to even try to think it through my eyes. I am always constantly thinking through theirs. But I can't make decisions like these people do. Because I'm not them. I've never lived a life like theirs nor have they mine. But they don't take the time to look at things through my eyes. Which makes me sad, and makes some things a lot more difficult for me. And also, it hurts because they're so judgemental. They go around saying that they aren't. But they are. And I understand I guess. That you're going to be more judgemental to those around you who aren't the ones close to you, but I'd like to argue that I am one ofthose clsoe to them. I'd like to argue this because I am. But sitll I'm being judged upon continuously.
And it's not fair.

Now let's talk about tattoos. Like the ones on my wrists.
It didn't hurt. Which is cool. Well, it was a weird kind of pain. Like the annoying kind. where it doesn't really hurt, but it would feel so much better if it was just gone. You know? But the buzzing of the fricken needle. That's what freaked me out. That sound. Nuh-uh. I don't like it.
But I may or may not be addicted to tattoos now.
Someone told me once, "You can never just get one tattoo."
And now I believe it.
because I already have ideas on how I want to build onto the one I just got.

I had a dream last night. It was insane.
So pokemon were real. Right? And there was this lady who somehow had the same powers as her pokemon. (this dream was in third person) and so she slid through trees and earth things like that because her pokemon was an earth pokemon. And then there was this big problem so this girl slid through trees and thing to get to this problem, I don't remember what happened and then this girl and her pokemon were at this camp thing. And everyone was falling for this trick that these people were planning. This trick was that this pokemon and his trainer were shapeshifting and pretending to be the second coming of christ. One of them was pretending ot be Jesus. And idk no one believed this girl that it was a trick. But finally when she did this thing became this monster and was trying to eat everything and everyone. Everything was getting sucked into it's black hole of darkness. And it was scary.
I think I defeated it. Maybe.




Guess who else hates birthdays?


Karl Lagerfeld.
check out that cake.
"I hate birthdays.. It's more like a new starting point in New York.. For me, it's an evolution.. I don't celebrate the past.. I like the present and tomorrow.." Karl Lagerfeld






I'm growing my hair out. Ask me how that's going and I'll ask you what it feels like not having any front teeth.
Short hair is great. It really is! But I want long hair! :( 
I want to be able to braid it and make hair bows and things.
I miss having to rip through it after months of not brushing it  (I never brushed my hair unless I absolutely had to when I had long hair) 
I miss straightening it and laying on it when it was all silky.
I miss long hair. 











^^ Me and hank. We're cute. 










Lovers Gonna Love.

Liars Lie.

I love this song <3
It's so great.
And this is kinda how I'm feelin'.



"Can you learn to shut up for awhile? Shut up. Shut up." -Guy in starbucks to his dad. :(

So I'm at starbucks doing homework because this guy's house that we're (my mom and I) staying at doesn't have internet.
Seriously. Who doesn't have internet?
Even like fricken DSL.
So anyways.
I was at Carribou earlier, which is like a block away and the Baristas there were bitches.
The baristas here at starbucks, not only are they attractive, but they're also hitting on me.
I know I know. Morgan, calm down. But it's nice to once in awhile be acknowledged by someone.
But seriously though.
I've been getting free samples first all morning (they're handing out free samples like crazy here. And i'm sitting wayyyyy in the back. Like in a spot nto even logical to start handing out samples at.) But here comes scruffy college kid baristo guy, with a half mocha half pumkin spice latte thingie.
And it's delicious.
And I'll add that when I paid for my ventiiiii drink (which he under charged me for!) I got a ,
"Hey, what are you doing today?"
"Homework."
"All day?"
"For the most part,"
"Well if you finish, and I'm off we should do something."
Uhh creep, but you're cute...
"Maybe."  -> Which in this case, becasue he thinks i'm like five years older than I really am, means "No."

Madison is like being on the show of Jersey shore.
It's cool, but I have never seen so many Snooki Look alikes in my entire life.
Cheezus.

Anyways. So liars.
My mother is one.
And I don't know why I fall for her shit every single time. And it just bothers the fuck out of me today
Well, for one the guy we're staying with according to her was supposedly dating this chick named Becky.
Who actually turns out to be his roomate and not his giirlfriend at all.
Also on facebook it clearly states that she is in a relationship with my father.
So if she's in a relationship with my father why is she going out with some other guy?
And sleeping in his bed? Hmmmm?
Why?
Because she's a liar. A manipulator. And just gross.
And there's something else, besides of all this, but I can't post it on this blog because well frankly it's none of
my business, but it's disgusting. And y'know you can tell a lot about what's going on or what happened or just people in general by what's chillin' in their bathroom garbage can. If you know what I fucking mean.
*Pukes.*
Sometimes I just want to tell her these things. I want her to look at the things that she does and see if she sees them as they truly are, or if she thinks that none of what she does is wrong.
I mean I get some of the things she does, but a lot of it crosses the line. She needs to take into perspective
the other people involved.
You know?

Also. I found this store called, I think if I'm remembering correctly, Little Bambino. And it's little icon thing are two elephants! I took a picture of it. It's SO FRIGGIN AWESOME.
And this is really interesting because when I was really little my grandma would always call me her "little bambino" so I'm not sure if it's a filipino thing or not.
But i'm just going to say it is and love the fact that it's icon thing is fricken elephants.
How fricken cool is that?
I love Elephants and filipino things. I'm going to go there, and probably buy something cool.
Especially if it's filipino stuff.

By the end of this school year I'm going to be SO GOOD at using paint. (;

CHECK. OUT . THAT. MINOTAUR.

Hellz yeah.