Whoever decided salads could count as meals were on some kind of crack.

I was trying to diet, which had lasted less than an hour because I was currently making a fatass sandwich for my cute ass.

My family says I'm full of myself, but um that is incorrect because I am not full at all, I am fucking hungry. 

Drool dripped down my chin as I stared at my 15 layers of pure sandwich, an evil laugh ejaculating from my throat.

hehe, ejaculate.

I shook my ketchup bottle like a bartender, getting my feet covered in red from the number of times I've dropped it. 

I'm smart, I swear. 

Not really.

I flipped my bottle upside down and squeezed some out in an attempt to draw a penis because this is the only dick I'll ever be able to eat, but accidentally fucked it up.

I'm a failure in life,

I started to borderline cry, which is just making a crying face while muttering gibberish shit without any tears.

"Aajhdshwehdhnjs," I choked, staring at the weird ass shape I had made instead of a dick.

I suddenly felt a chill, goosebumps racing up my arms as if I had just realized that reason people say, "Hold your horses," is because they're telling me to be stable.

Oh, dick on a stick, people say "Hold your horses," because they're telling me to be stable.

"Whaddup, bitch."

I blinked a few times fast, trying to process the new figure with skin brighter than my future spinning around in my spinny chair a few feet away from me.

The fuck.

OMG DID SOMEONE WEED MY SALAD.

I EATED THE WEED.

THAT'S IT, IM GOING TO HELL.

Eh, I'd go to hell anyway.

"Whaddup thot, want a sandwich?" 

➔➔➔➔➔

A/N

WHADDUP HOES

SO I THINK I GENUINELY NEED HELP WTF DID I JUST WRITE

yo maybe i eated the weed

 ANYWAY I HOPE MY WEIRDASS PUT A SMILE ON UR FACE I LOVE YOU ALL TO HOBI AND BACK

k im gonna use this book next time i try to convince my parents i need therapy

lol nvm probably just gonna end up gettin beat with a sandal

OKAYY BYEE