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Die Eier Von Satan.
Why do I do this? Why do I sit here in this really uncomfortable chair with the ill placed screw poking me, staring abnormally devoid of thought at the computer when I have two forty paged chapters in a Social Psychology book to read?
Despite that reading a bunch of shit about other persons and their social interactions irks me, seeing as how I don't give one flying fuck about social interactions; I have no reason not to be reading it.
Despite that reading a bunch of shit about other persons and their social interactions irks me, seeing as how I don't give one flying fuck about social interactions; I have no reason not to be reading it.
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Plus, he works at Radioshack and he's going to buy me an amazing stereo system once I get that pseudo Honda.
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