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next I wish there were a way I could write without sitting on my fat ass all day long. Sometimes I swear I can feel it growing as I sit here. My circulation goes all to hell and I have to stand up and limp around to get the feeling back in my legs. I'll probably die of a blood clot, or an aneurysm, like my aunt Betty. Why does the thing I like most about myself have to be inextricably linked to my impending death? I guess one thing leads to another. Speaking of my fat ass, I'm thinking about making a diaryring called fatbottomedgirls. For those who make the rockin' world go round. And Queen fans, what the hell. prev archive next 0 comments random |