over here...I can see the grim reaper snearing at me outside my window.
I'm dying still. Dying a slow, horrible morbid death full of phlem, mouth breathing, and clogged up ears.
Doesn't that paint a pretty picture?
I have blown my nose 12 times in the last half hour. That's what it'll probably say on my death certificate. She blew herself to death. Wait...That doesn't sound good...
My nephew is still no where to be found, and when he gets back I'm going to make him paint my toenails. I refuse to be buried with toenails that do not match my fingernails. Hey, even dying people have standards.