Shit is fucking going down.

I have established beyond all possible and reasonable doubt that I am a mean soulless coward with an empty shell for a heart. Well, something nearabouts to that, anyway. Details, details.

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My birthday is coming up. And I want to be knocked out of my mismatched socks. I am not even kidding. I want something amazingmagicalfantasticmindblowing to happen; and you know why? Because I fucking want it. And I fucking deserve it. For fucking being alive, and being myfuckingself. So sit the fuck up and take notes:

1. I like reading. Few things give me the warm fuzzy feeling that my mind feels when I'm reading a particularly exceptional book. Fewer things can compare to the self-assured happiness that fills me to my core when I find myself appreciating the nuance-filled and graceful wording of an exceptionally good story. I love words, and finding them, and hoarding them and setting them off at the right time. I love words more than any of my worldly possessions. I love words than I ever could love any worldly possessions that I may ever own.

But what does this mean to you? It means that whatever gift you're planning to give me, it's kind of not going to be as awesome as the words you can churn out from the deep viscous trenches of your stomach (or heart, or whatever) that, slimy as they may seem, automatically become awesome because they're a part of you that you're giving to me. I'm just saying.

2. I love cake. And Pepsi.

3. I fucking LOVE surprises.

So do what you fucking can because I demand something awesome. For myself. All for me. Right now. Ok?

I DEMAND IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The hard part would be to figure out what exactly I term to be "something awesome". But if you have been paying attention it's really the easiest thing. Really.