Better than Superman

Yes, I am referring to myself in the title. Yes, this may seem like a conceited thing to say of oneself. Do I care what you think? Not particularly. Moving on.

Why am I better than Superman? Tits, first of all.

Secondly, I’m much cuter.

Also, according to most of my friends here now, I also posess super strength.

Allow me to explain:

A couple of nights ago, I went to assist a couple of my friends with car trouble. Ashley’s car had stopped, wouldn’t start, and she could not afford a tow. A mutual friend of ours, Mitchell, a large, semi-muscular (and attractive) man went to her aide. Together, they could not get her little Sunfire to budge.

In desperation, they begin to call everyone they can think of, and Mitchell ends up coming to get me so that I can help out, too. They didn’t think it would make much difference since I’m smaller than Ashley, but I’m fairly solidly built, so I had confidence.

So the three of us attempt, to no avail. It doesn’t even rock. Ashley and Mitch walk off a little ways to debate how else to get her car out of a thoroughfare. I absently glance through the open window, and notice off-hand that her parking break is on.

I reach through, disengage it, and proced to get the vehicle moving (slowly) by myself. The other two hadn’t been paying attention, and when they looked up to see this small woman pushing a previously immovable Sunfire by herself, they came to the only logical conclusion: I must posses super powers.

Not that I’m actively supporting their claim, or anything; I’m just letting people wonder. And now that I’m well on my way to becoming a legend, I need to think up a cool name.

And what other powers could I have attributed to me? Some of them already suspect that I read minds, and have superior reflexes.

I should start fighting crime soon, I think.


The Day Death Came…All Over Your Ancestors

So, I have a new chalkboard. Also, a new hobby.

My mother has decided to allow me to paint my room, and I have decided on a suitable color scheme. Pictures when it’s finished. Pinky promise. (Now, you guys get to cut off one of my pinky fingers if I forget later. Don’t we love these archaic, and fascinating old customs?)

And yes, I have not been posting as often as I ought to be. I promised every weekish. Shame on me. But in my defense, I temporarily forgot my password, and my boss has been working me half to death, and then scaring me the other half of the way.

Yes. I’ve been dead. This is my excuse. Dont judge me. A pox on your laundry.

A gutsy move? Yes, I know. But then, they say that my clit is 10′ long and bulletproof, so, I say I’ve got one up on the world these days. Fuck your couch.