What doesn't understand.

At 9 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, I was yelled at, causing me to jolt from loveless sleep into the loveless world for the upcoming trip to the physicians office for some possible love (finally). After consuming my usual two massive bowls of oatmeal topped by Earth Balance magarine, raw sugar, and soymilk plus raisins for breakfast, I sat in front of a fan, reading the local newspaper. Garner no knowledge, the interest dripping away, I stopped.

At the doctor's office, I got love. He touched my testicles. Dr. Batista touched my testicles in a common search for hernia, but many other contexts, it was love. I went home, not satisfied. For the concerned, I suffer from no major ailments, have strong, healthy teeth, and am ready for college.

We Are Spleen did not record today as planned, instead, large quantities of Dynasty Warriors 6 was played; thousands of animated soldiers killed. Mason's room, the harbour of disease, filth, and grisle has become so disorderly, the only hope of finding anything in it consists of pure hope: prayer, if it worked, could help.