My teen-angst bullshit has a body count.

I’ve reached new levels of suckage, this I know. The elastic gave out in my blogging undies and they’ve been languishing around my ankles for some time now. There’s a toasty visual for you. In my defence: work sucks dog’s balls. Big. Hairy. Dead dog’s balls. And has sucked so since Fey Prince did hisContinue reading “My teen-angst bullshit has a body count.”