I have been having computer troubles.

A little poem I like to call: An Open Letter To the Asshat Who Built the Software that Installed Itself On My Computer Without My Wanting It or Knowing It and Fucked It Up and Wouldn't Delete No Matter What I Did or How I Begged

or, for short:

Homicidal Rage Is the New Mellow

you are an asshat
easy as pie
I wish to spork you in the eye
and stomp on your grave
while you're still alive
and laugh while your mama cries

::bows::

Ok, so I'm not a poet. But, you know, points and shit.

In other news I should be locked away for the depth to which I am in tuned to my computer's well being. It felt bad? I felt bad. It got better? So did my mood! Tis a sad, sad thing, people.

I also want to do this little contest so much I can't see straight. I also want to do the hp_tradeoff. Clearly both of these things cannot happen. Neither of these things should happen. I should be writing my rsficathonthing right now. This is a sickness. Someone, cure me, please. My To-Do list is going to revolt and smother me in my sleep any day now with the way this is going.

And if anyone can talk Draco out of forcing me to write a Harry Is Sorted Into SLYTHERIN! story, I would love you forever. And ever. And possibly the day after that. But not a second longer!

Ok, I'll shut up now.

God, I'm bored.