These days we have Smartphones, Smartcars, Smartboards, Smarteverything, but consider this: if technology is getting smarter, does that mean humans are getting dumber?
Weird how I can feel so frail and tiny sometimes, and other times so brave and bold and reckless and free, and . . . Does everybody feel the same? When people get grown-up, do they always feel grown-up and sensible and sorted out and . . . And do I want to feel grown-up? Do I want to stop feeling . . . paradoxical, nonsensical? Do I want to stop being crackers? Do I want to be destrangified? O yes, sometimes I want nothing more – but it only lasts a moment, then O I want to be the strangest and crakerest of everybody.
She had a voice so husky it could have pulled a dogsled, and the gun she was holding gave me a bad case of barrel envy.
He’s my father, whoever he is, so he must have had sex with my mother at least once, and I’d love to kill him for that.
Nobody is wired wrong because there’s no wrong and right in the way we are.
The problem is normal was’nt in my DNA. I was destined to be forever freakish.
I’m an ugly girl,
My face makes you hurl,
Sad I have it,
I should bag it.
Unwanted facial hair.
I’m a relation to Frankenstein’s creation.
I’m too wacky for most weirdos. Who am I to judge?
Wendy’s house, unlike many in Cape Breton, had three floors, along with a basement and attic. Aside from Wendy’s bedroom, there was a laundry room. The dirty water in the sink would rush from the washer hose, bubbling up, threatening to overflow, but it never did. Next-door was a motel with a neon sign that read in turquoise and pink, “We have the best rates in town!
A girl’s got to use what she’s given and I’m not going to make a guy drool the way a Britney video does. So I take it to extremes. I don’t say I dress sexily on stage – what I do is so extreme. It’s meant to make guys think: ‘I don’t know if this is sexy or just weird.