His face is filled with fright and horror. It's because of his shitty drawn arms.
Ewing. He is socially awkward, and no that is not his penis.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Art v. 1.0
........or something along the lines of 'art' :
His face is filled with fright and horror. It's because of his shitty drawn arms.
Ewing. He is socially awkward, and no that is not his penis.
His face is filled with fright and horror. It's because of his shitty drawn arms.
Ewing. He is socially awkward, and no that is not his penis.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Dejavuvuzela
WARNING: I have been running on 5 hours of sleep the past two days. Anything I say does not, I repeat DOES NOT represent me and my mental state in day-to-day circumstances. Only the funny and witty parts represent me, not the parts that might sound like I've had a few too many. This quite possibly might be too difficult to decipher between the two. That is a secondary warning. See now I'm rambling.
ANYWAYS.
I was in my garage rummaging around looking through boxes I didn't even unpack during the last move, finding some hilarious stuff. I really forgot how obsessed I was with *NSYNC in my teen years. But then I started listening to Dashboard and Weezer and grew metaphorical good-music-taste balls....or something.
ANYWAYS.
I wanted to take a break and lay outside and get some sun kisses. So I did just that on our lovely crab grass. Not the best thing to lay on, very itchy.
I settle onto the crab grass getting as comfortable as I can shutting my eyes, smelling the damp humid air and feeling of the humidity take grasp of my skin, breathing in the thick air and feeling the sun leave its marks across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Then all a sudden I start hearing this humming/buzz noise. For a second I thought someone was blaring a replay of a soccer match played earlier in the day. I tilt my head up seeing a beehive attached to the lower part of the house. How close was it you ask? The proximity of said beehive was raping my 'personal space'....let's just put it that way.
Thousands of mini winged-and-sharp-butt'ed-vuvuzela's within feet from my body. I panic laying there frozen since not even an hour earlier I had a peanut butter and honey sandwich.
(they would automatically think my mouth is the entrance to their hive of doom)
"Maybe if I don't move, they won't see me" I think to myself. "Kind of like a dinosaur" mumbling to myself, reassuring I'll be fine and not get all Macaulay Culkin'd. I got bored with being dramatic so I got up and booked it inside. Pretty simple right?
Needless to say,I'm kind of happy I'm moving. There has been too many close encounters with winged creatures at my current place of residence.
BzzzzzzzZzzzzzzzzZzzzzzzzZzzzzzzz.
PS: GO OOH-ESS-AY!
ANYWAYS.
I was in my garage rummaging around looking through boxes I didn't even unpack during the last move, finding some hilarious stuff. I really forgot how obsessed I was with *NSYNC in my teen years. But then I started listening to Dashboard and Weezer and grew metaphorical good-music-taste balls....or something.
ANYWAYS.
I wanted to take a break and lay outside and get some sun kisses. So I did just that on our lovely crab grass. Not the best thing to lay on, very itchy.
I settle onto the crab grass getting as comfortable as I can shutting my eyes, smelling the damp humid air and feeling of the humidity take grasp of my skin, breathing in the thick air and feeling the sun leave its marks across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Then all a sudden I start hearing this humming/buzz noise. For a second I thought someone was blaring a replay of a soccer match played earlier in the day. I tilt my head up seeing a beehive attached to the lower part of the house. How close was it you ask? The proximity of said beehive was raping my 'personal space'....let's just put it that way.
Thousands of mini winged-and-sharp-butt'ed-vuvuzela's within feet from my body. I panic laying there frozen since not even an hour earlier I had a peanut butter and honey sandwich.
(they would automatically think my mouth is the entrance to their hive of doom)
"Maybe if I don't move, they won't see me" I think to myself. "Kind of like a dinosaur" mumbling to myself, reassuring I'll be fine and not get all Macaulay Culkin'd. I got bored with being dramatic so I got up and booked it inside. Pretty simple right?
Needless to say,I'm kind of happy I'm moving. There has been too many close encounters with winged creatures at my current place of residence.
BzzzzzzzZzzzzzzzzZzzzzzzzZzzzzzzz.
PS: GO OOH-ESS-AY!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
They Call Me The Hiphopopotamus
My lyrics are bottomless..........
And I also loathe packing. I've been to the liquor store (to get boxes) so many times it probably looks like I'm a raging alcoholic. All those people standing outside by the bus stop every day around 2pm in front of the liquor store. Watching me drag boxes to my car packing as many as I can in. I must look super-human stacking 4 boxes on top of each other per trip. They probably think it's all the cocaine/meth/sharpie inhalation I do that helps me with said box transport. Since in their mind I am a raging alcoholic, might as well add to the supposed substance abuse. They probably think I kill kittens too.
(note: this is what a paranoid person sounds like)
And now I'll go watch more Flight of The Conchords, instead of doing what I should be doing. That is the Karlee way.
My beats are fly and the birds are on my back, and I'm horny. I'm horny.
And I also loathe packing. I've been to the liquor store (to get boxes) so many times it probably looks like I'm a raging alcoholic. All those people standing outside by the bus stop every day around 2pm in front of the liquor store. Watching me drag boxes to my car packing as many as I can in. I must look super-human stacking 4 boxes on top of each other per trip. They probably think it's all the cocaine/meth/sharpie inhalation I do that helps me with said box transport. Since in their mind I am a raging alcoholic, might as well add to the supposed substance abuse. They probably think I kill kittens too.
(note: this is what a paranoid person sounds like)
And now I'll go watch more Flight of The Conchords, instead of doing what I should be doing. That is the Karlee way.
My beats are fly and the birds are on my back, and I'm horny. I'm horny.
A Change of Scenery
My whole life I've lived close to Minneapolis, never further than a 15 minute drive to the city limits. Now, on Wednesday I will be an hour away.
AN HOUR AWAY.
JGHSJAHyfsdughp;fhvgsjhagJ;KHFBJFKDH AGHHHHHH /angry keyboard mash
Okay, it isn't a big deal (it is) I love the country (in small amounts) and everyone in small towns seem nice (but hate welcoming new folk) and it is a college town (drunken idiots littering the street(s) (haven't checked if there was more than one street)) so I guess it won't be too bad right? (run, run Karlee. RUN!) I mean, I will be living with my cousin, and I will be near my parents, sister, and nephew. I love my family to death. I am such a family person it's kind of frightening. Would it be stupid to say my parents are my best friends? To some, yes that might come off as super Danny Tanner-ish but I mean really. They are the bee's knees.
May I point out that I am a city girl through and through, I love me some small towns and beautiful scenery, don't get me wrong. But I am the type that needs to be constantly stimulated with something. I enjoy sound, I enjoy the buzz a city gives off. I love always having something to do, within reach.
I'm moving down there because I really do need a fresh start, my life has changed so much the past few years and this is one of the final steps. I am scared and excited at the same time, I keep laying in bed wondering how I will like it, if I will have one of my classic drama-panic-attacks and run to my parents wanting hugs. I'm a big girl, suck it up Karlee. Don't let that nasty crawly feeling in your chest and bones get the best of you.
If I pussy out I will kick my ass, so hard. So wicked hard. But no need to worry because I'm a tough-ass-mamma-jamma.
Minneapolis, we have had a torrid, mind blowing, sensual love affair. Sadly, I won't be seeing you as much as I used to. I need to move on. I need to grow up. I know I know...shh...shhh....it's okay. It's not you, it's me.
Friends?
--------------------------------------------------
AND NOW for your daily dose of adorable:
I can haz in human form plz? K thanxbai.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
You CAN Love Inanimate Objects
....because sweet mother of pearl this is the best inanimate object, ever.
Great for teas and cocoa.
I am not coffee friendly anymore.
ILoveMyPenguinCup.
Even if Sidney Crosby offered me tons of monies,
I'd never sell you, ohhhh whooaaaah ohh!
Sweet cup-o-mine.
PS: Guns N Roses suck.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Being Bested by Vermin
One could call me an animal lover, no...one who likes animals. Actually, scratch that. Animals who are tame. Yes, thats it. So I like animals who are accepted in a place with four walls with a door and a lock. So this excludes a lot of animals. But that is also wrong, since I think one who has mice or other vermin for that matter for a pet needs therapy of some sorts*, or possibly they are practicing for their future job as the person who tests things on animals. Yet they are some-what adorable, don't you think? Looking at me like they want to recite me a damn shakespearean sonnet. NO, you belong in the fields. Not in a cage, nor between my walls making scary noises. Stop wiggling that tiny little nose of yours, squeaking at me thinking I know your mouse-speak. NO. DO NOT WANT.
(this last paragraph has given me ameliorative progress in figuring out my deep seeded hate for mice. Since the last time I have spoken about them, progress was not positive, but progress indeed it was...of realizing how deep seeded it was)
I truly still don't understand my irrational behavior and hate towards mice and other fluffy miniature creatures of the sort. I guess we should take a trip into my childhood.....
-insert a smoke monster type cut scene minus the whole, death of Mr.Eko and subsequently turning into Locke and having an epic battle with Jack Sheppard on a rocky cliff and fail-whaling off of it after being owned by the guy who cries too much. So, just the smoke, are we clear? PS: I kind of like LOST)
As a small child I was by far too acquiescent to even attempt to stand up to my parents. I followed the rules and didn't make a fuss. So ergo, I got almost everything I asked for if it was reasonable, attainable, and acceptable among the round table that was my mother, father and sister. (and sometimes, my cat Sally had a say in certain things)
I remember vaugely that I was jealous of my cousin because she had a gerbil. Yes, I had a cat but I was young and all little girls need cute fluffy things in our life. (Now a days I go for the men who have facial hair, everything stems from childhood my friends) so I walked up to my parents after doing my homework, clearing my throat to get their attention, "I've been a good girl, and I think I should be allowed to have two hamsters." I boasted and being so as-a-matter-of-factly since they shot down the gerbil idea because they were worried I'd become so pre-occupied with it I would forget about Sally.
So why two hamsters instead you say? Because gerbils are relatively bigger than them, and gerbils need more up-keep, you can take gerbils out of the cage and they barely bite and can walk around freely (so I've seen, my cousin treated it as a cat). Also, it would turn into my cats next meal. Something caged, and that would stay that way was a much better choice.
We went to the pet store and I got two, I remember the man who sold me my hamsters. I thought he looked like Randy Savage on a bad-day. I swear still to this day he ate most of the animals, then crossed them off the inventory as 'SOLD' because it looked like a place where animals went to die. I named them Luke and Leia. Since they were brother and sister....and naturally had enough sexual tension in that tank to cut with a knife. We didn't do our 'hamster 101' research. They screw as often if not more than rabbits. And produce just as fast.
Within a month we had a gaggle ton of hamsters, I felt like I had my own little animal farm. It was like real-life farm-pet-zombie-mafiawar-slowly-turning-into-plants-vs-zombies-ville, but more hands on. And real. Speaking of zombies, George A. Romero would of been proud of the epic shit that went down in that tank. One day I came home and the Albino of the bunch, snowball ate two of its brothers, its mother and injured its father. I should of re named Luke Bruce Cambell since he was arm-less. Sadly, I couldn't find a mini chainsaw to attach to its aforementioned arm hole.**
My cage looked like the zombies won. I scolded snowball and he tried to bite me whilst I was cleaning up the dead hamster carcasses, and yes I had gloves on. I didn't want to get any hamster aids, duh. I knew he instinctively tried to bite me so I would join his zombie-albino-hamster-army. He was literally an army of one.
After cleaning up the mess I thoughtlessly put a piece of cardboard to split the tank in two. I was young and never thought of the idea:
"Hey...he just inhaled the stomach of his brother, bit off the head of his other brother and started to feast on his Dad. He could NEVER chew through cardboard! Golly geez!"
Then,
OH
MY
LAMB.
I woke up from my slumber to see a bloody mess first thing in the morning, snowball nowhere in sight, the rest of his family strewn across the bloody cardboard he bit through. I yelled out sounding like a mixture of chewbacca, a goose, and an elk. Gasping for air, I quickly found my cat and checked her to see if she had any nibble marks on her.
She was unscathed thankfully.
I was defeated.
I told my parents I would take care of them. This was my test, to further my animal purchases, so much I could even possibly adding a dog to the family. As I look back I was like Draco, I had a mission. But my mission wasn't trying to kill Dumbledore and failing because I actually have some goodness in me, or just frankly because I was a pussy, and was a lot of talk. That shit is all on him.
(Yes, I do partake in watching Harry Potter from time to time, shove it)
I failed, me, myself. because I couldn't control these animals. Damn you snowball. Damn you to animal purgatory. I had to build up all the strength I had in me, and the rest of my dignity to tell my parents of the epic 24 hour zombie take over that happened in my 30x12x12 hamster tank of terror.
Needless to say, I think that scarred me for life, and changed my way of looking at vermin.
Oh yeah, a mouse also bit me as a child. Little bastard.
*I just made myself sound like I was in need of therapy, and actually after the massacre of Luke, Leia and their love children I should have talked to someone about it. That was messed up. I always wondered if Manson, Gein, Bundy, Dahmer or Gacy went through a traumatic animal experience.***
**sorry for saying arm hole, that sounds very disgusting and not a good visual. Especially if this is late-night reading for you.
*** I am in no way as balls crazy as aforementioned psycho killers. But everything stems from something, I say. Little Gacy could of seen his dog get shot by his father because it broke both of its legs and they didn't have enough money to bring him to the vet. And like a ticking time bomb his crazy exploded in his brain like one of those cheap fireworks that last 4 seconds, the kind you get at your local pump-n-munch. I think way too much.
(this last paragraph has given me ameliorative progress in figuring out my deep seeded hate for mice. Since the last time I have spoken about them, progress was not positive, but progress indeed it was...of realizing how deep seeded it was)
I truly still don't understand my irrational behavior and hate towards mice and other fluffy miniature creatures of the sort. I guess we should take a trip into my childhood.....
-insert a smoke monster type cut scene minus the whole, death of Mr.Eko and subsequently turning into Locke and having an epic battle with Jack Sheppard on a rocky cliff and fail-whaling off of it after being owned by the guy who cries too much. So, just the smoke, are we clear? PS: I kind of like LOST)
As a small child I was by far too acquiescent to even attempt to stand up to my parents. I followed the rules and didn't make a fuss. So ergo, I got almost everything I asked for if it was reasonable, attainable, and acceptable among the round table that was my mother, father and sister. (and sometimes, my cat Sally had a say in certain things)
I remember vaugely that I was jealous of my cousin because she had a gerbil. Yes, I had a cat but I was young and all little girls need cute fluffy things in our life. (Now a days I go for the men who have facial hair, everything stems from childhood my friends) so I walked up to my parents after doing my homework, clearing my throat to get their attention, "I've been a good girl, and I think I should be allowed to have two hamsters." I boasted and being so as-a-matter-of-factly since they shot down the gerbil idea because they were worried I'd become so pre-occupied with it I would forget about Sally.
So why two hamsters instead you say? Because gerbils are relatively bigger than them, and gerbils need more up-keep, you can take gerbils out of the cage and they barely bite and can walk around freely (so I've seen, my cousin treated it as a cat). Also, it would turn into my cats next meal. Something caged, and that would stay that way was a much better choice.
We went to the pet store and I got two, I remember the man who sold me my hamsters. I thought he looked like Randy Savage on a bad-day. I swear still to this day he ate most of the animals, then crossed them off the inventory as 'SOLD' because it looked like a place where animals went to die. I named them Luke and Leia. Since they were brother and sister....and naturally had enough sexual tension in that tank to cut with a knife. We didn't do our 'hamster 101' research. They screw as often if not more than rabbits. And produce just as fast.
Within a month we had a gaggle ton of hamsters, I felt like I had my own little animal farm. It was like real-life farm-pet-zombie-mafiawar-slowly-turning-into-plants-vs-zombies-ville, but more hands on. And real. Speaking of zombies, George A. Romero would of been proud of the epic shit that went down in that tank. One day I came home and the Albino of the bunch, snowball ate two of its brothers, its mother and injured its father. I should of re named Luke Bruce Cambell since he was arm-less. Sadly, I couldn't find a mini chainsaw to attach to its aforementioned arm hole.**
My cage looked like the zombies won. I scolded snowball and he tried to bite me whilst I was cleaning up the dead hamster carcasses, and yes I had gloves on. I didn't want to get any hamster aids, duh. I knew he instinctively tried to bite me so I would join his zombie-albino-hamster-army. He was literally an army of one.
After cleaning up the mess I thoughtlessly put a piece of cardboard to split the tank in two. I was young and never thought of the idea:
"Hey...he just inhaled the stomach of his brother, bit off the head of his other brother and started to feast on his Dad. He could NEVER chew through cardboard! Golly geez!"
Then,
OH
MY
LAMB.
I woke up from my slumber to see a bloody mess first thing in the morning, snowball nowhere in sight, the rest of his family strewn across the bloody cardboard he bit through. I yelled out sounding like a mixture of chewbacca, a goose, and an elk. Gasping for air, I quickly found my cat and checked her to see if she had any nibble marks on her.
She was unscathed thankfully.
I was defeated.
I told my parents I would take care of them. This was my test, to further my animal purchases, so much I could even possibly adding a dog to the family. As I look back I was like Draco, I had a mission. But my mission wasn't trying to kill Dumbledore and failing because I actually have some goodness in me, or just frankly because I was a pussy, and was a lot of talk. That shit is all on him.
(Yes, I do partake in watching Harry Potter from time to time, shove it)
I failed, me, myself. because I couldn't control these animals. Damn you snowball. Damn you to animal purgatory. I had to build up all the strength I had in me, and the rest of my dignity to tell my parents of the epic 24 hour zombie take over that happened in my 30x12x12 hamster tank of terror.
Needless to say, I think that scarred me for life, and changed my way of looking at vermin.
Oh yeah, a mouse also bit me as a child. Little bastard.
*I just made myself sound like I was in need of therapy, and actually after the massacre of Luke, Leia and their love children I should have talked to someone about it. That was messed up. I always wondered if Manson, Gein, Bundy, Dahmer or Gacy went through a traumatic animal experience.***
**sorry for saying arm hole, that sounds very disgusting and not a good visual. Especially if this is late-night reading for you.
*** I am in no way as balls crazy as aforementioned psycho killers. But everything stems from something, I say. Little Gacy could of seen his dog get shot by his father because it broke both of its legs and they didn't have enough money to bring him to the vet. And like a ticking time bomb his crazy exploded in his brain like one of those cheap fireworks that last 4 seconds, the kind you get at your local pump-n-munch. I think way too much.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Star Wars Paper Toys!
Wanna make an adorable cut out paper toy based on the Star Wars characters you know and love? I know, so do I. Now you can!
DARTH PAPER VADER TOY // PDF FILE
And here are the other PDF files you can upload:
Boba Fett!
R2D2!
YODA!
Storm Trooper!
C-3PO!
A big thanks to the toy-a-day blog for these! They have a bunch more and are super fun to make!
DARTH PAPER VADER TOY // PDF FILE
And here are the other PDF files you can upload:
Boba Fett!
R2D2!
YODA!
Storm Trooper!
C-3PO!
A big thanks to the toy-a-day blog for these! They have a bunch more and are super fun to make!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The Right Stuff
I remember my sister calling this constantly, and pissing off my parents making the phone bill blow up every month. Needless to say her phone privileges were revoked.
Side Note: Holy shit, Zack Morris phone waddap.
Side Note 2.0: What is up with the 5 digits at the end? I just called for shits and gigs and it didn't work. They were that awesome they added an extra number to the regular 7 number sequence. I want to know what they are up to now!! /Sarcasm
Nostalgia 2.0
Lately I have been taken over by nostalgia and thinking back to the 'good ol' days' of childhood. I mean really, shit was so easy back then and we didn't have to worry about a damn thing. And it sucks because all we wanted to do was grow up. And we did grow up. Now we want pieces of our childhood back.
Let me tell you a couple stories from my childhood:
They were puffy, they were cool, and everyone wanted one. At least in Minneapolis. The glorious Starter jackets. YOU KNOW you wanted one. The ghetto tom boy in me yearned for the Dallas Cowboys Starter jacket. I foamed at the mouth imagining going to school with my Reebok's, acid wash jeans, baggy Nike shirt, and my Starter jacket! I was a walking damn 90's advertisement. I swear everyone went through a ghetto phase. Or as I call it the "Mexican girl" look. Slicked back hair, penciled in lips, baggy shirts, high tops. And to top it all off I had eyebrows the size of Martin Scorsese's.
Guess what? Karlee got her jacket. Then Karlee got her ass kicked in the alley and they took a switch blade to the logo on the back and shoved me in the muddy snow and ran off. Did I mention Karlee didn't live in the best of neighborhoods when she was a youngin? Hard knocks, mofos. Hard. Knocks.
.....remember when I said I miss the good ol' days because we didn't have to worry about anything? Fuck that noise. I had a bloody nose and a bruised my tail bone. I decided to not like the Dallas Cowboys anymore. Maybe, just maybe the football gods were teaching me a lesson. Don't like the Dallas Cowboys, Cris Carter went to your Kwanzaa production at school and you were head speaker (yes, a chubby short white girl, AWESOME) and you tripped and fell off stage and who caught you? Oh yeah, Chris fucking Carter. You should of taken that as a sign that you should turn into a Vikings fan. But no. NO KARLEE, you had to wait until you got your ass kicked. Smart.
Lesson learned, never buy sports merchandise and wear it out in public. That experience alone made me change my dressing habits, thank goodness.(I wish it taught me to pluck my eyebrows, but that came later in life. When I was around 15.)
I remember vaguely that I started dressing girly. Also, *NSYNC just started becoming famous and I realized that yes, I do like boys. And naturally I fantasized about the gay one. Story of my life.
Let me tell you a couple stories from my childhood:
They were puffy, they were cool, and everyone wanted one. At least in Minneapolis. The glorious Starter jackets. YOU KNOW you wanted one. The ghetto tom boy in me yearned for the Dallas Cowboys Starter jacket. I foamed at the mouth imagining going to school with my Reebok's, acid wash jeans, baggy Nike shirt, and my Starter jacket! I was a walking damn 90's advertisement. I swear everyone went through a ghetto phase. Or as I call it the "Mexican girl" look. Slicked back hair, penciled in lips, baggy shirts, high tops. And to top it all off I had eyebrows the size of Martin Scorsese's.
Guess what? Karlee got her jacket. Then Karlee got her ass kicked in the alley and they took a switch blade to the logo on the back and shoved me in the muddy snow and ran off. Did I mention Karlee didn't live in the best of neighborhoods when she was a youngin? Hard knocks, mofos. Hard. Knocks.
.....remember when I said I miss the good ol' days because we didn't have to worry about anything? Fuck that noise. I had a bloody nose and a bruised my tail bone. I decided to not like the Dallas Cowboys anymore. Maybe, just maybe the football gods were teaching me a lesson. Don't like the Dallas Cowboys, Cris Carter went to your Kwanzaa production at school and you were head speaker (yes, a chubby short white girl, AWESOME) and you tripped and fell off stage and who caught you? Oh yeah, Chris fucking Carter. You should of taken that as a sign that you should turn into a Vikings fan. But no. NO KARLEE, you had to wait until you got your ass kicked. Smart.
Lesson learned, never buy sports merchandise and wear it out in public. That experience alone made me change my dressing habits, thank goodness.(I wish it taught me to pluck my eyebrows, but that came later in life. When I was around 15.)
I remember vaguely that I started dressing girly. Also, *NSYNC just started becoming famous and I realized that yes, I do like boys. And naturally I fantasized about the gay one. Story of my life.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Nostalgia 1.0
I think I need to get a bunch of people together and do this. Because I miss it. Then afterwards we can drink this:
And the world would feel so simple, like it did when we were 10.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Title Here.
First off I would like to say that this is the best Halloween costume, ever:
Anyways, I have been following Banksy Street Art for quite some time now, he is like the Spider Man of tagging.
My current favorite:
Golden.
Well, you will all come to realize my undying devotion and love for cupcakes. It isn't just because they taste good, they are fun to make, fun to decorate and a mini artistic creation that can be destroyed in a matter of seconds. Then I came across this:
BANKSY CUPCAKE! Now that is a cupcake that would be hard to eat. Unless me not eating it meant nobody would eat it, therefore sitting there uneaten. Sad, moist, creamy, fluffy. *NOM*
Also, I suggest you go and listen to Discovery's cover of "I Want You Back". I usually hate it when people try and re-make MJ's music but this isn't your typical carbon copy kind of re make. Listen now!
Sweet dreams.
Anyways, I have been following Banksy Street Art for quite some time now, he is like the Spider Man of tagging.
My current favorite:
Golden.
Well, you will all come to realize my undying devotion and love for cupcakes. It isn't just because they taste good, they are fun to make, fun to decorate and a mini artistic creation that can be destroyed in a matter of seconds. Then I came across this:
BANKSY CUPCAKE! Now that is a cupcake that would be hard to eat. Unless me not eating it meant nobody would eat it, therefore sitting there uneaten. Sad, moist, creamy, fluffy. *NOM*
Also, I suggest you go and listen to Discovery's cover of "I Want You Back". I usually hate it when people try and re-make MJ's music but this isn't your typical carbon copy kind of re make. Listen now!
Sweet dreams.
An Introduction.
24. Female. Strong. Passionate. Stubborn. Awkward. Sassy. Friendly. Bitchy. Loving. Sarcastic. Humble. Handful. Hot mess. I promise you won't forget me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)