... and the information about me becomes even more useless

I remember selling my soul for a carton of milk while attending private school.

The scar of a gash set into my left shin still gives me a wincing pain feeling more than 7 years later

With every paper I write I still have the habit to work procrastination into my schedule

I suppose i have always wanted to enjoy a seedy addiction to altoids, but the mint never got its hook set in me

Never will i understand the intricacies of 'bridge' or 'five card stud'

I will conquer my fear of nuance

"You will not kill me 'pe diem'"

All too often I catch myself cutting my nails too short

I love to pour old, skunked beer down bathroom sinks