I wonder if you could actually get in a lot of trouble for saying you're going to kill the president. Birdman just informed me of a skit from "The State" where a teacher is talking about how John Wilkes Booth killed President Lincoln, and secret service agents suddenly bust into the room and steal her from the class. But is it like the same urban myth that the FBI has "everyone" on file, and they're zooming around with pregnant bitches having alien babies on flying saucers and shit in the Pentagon. I'm not going to kill the President, I'm just not going to vote for him next year which is kind of like killing him, but i'd still be too afraid to say I would, the same way I'm too afraid to say bloody mary when I get out of the fucking shower, and I can't put three sixes (why don't I remember how to spell six in the plural form?) together on paper or become honestly afraid to say "you have six dollars and sixty six cents left on your starbucks card" at work...

So, if I don't drink enough water, and keep it down, for that matter, I will have to deal with kidney failure. I'm 20 years old, and I feel about 75 this afternoon. I had no idea how much weight I had gained in highschool until I had to go for an appointment yesterday. I have not weighed myself in a good three years, I absolutely refused to be concerned about it, and now I don't know why I am so upset that I have been gaining girth, like a snowball rolling down a hill of cold french fries. If I survive the rest of this month, I'm going to have to make some more resolutions...

Last week I saw "What about Bob" for the first time since I was about 12. I have a new appreciation for Richard Dreyfuss...

Birdman is obsessed with swords. At first I was cautious dating someone who had a weapon collection, until I did it with him, and I guess I can let it slide. But, come on, Birdman, swords? I sleep below a collection of 3 foot long very sharp swords on a mantel that weighs approximately .5 pounds. At this current point in my life, it would be only fitting that these swords slice me into dinner...i have to go I believe I just threw up blood...

My name is not Bella, from now on, I would like people to address me as Baby Bison.

ex.: my blogs:
averie
katie
marlena
baby bison


I just recently realized what a dork I was last year, and how much fun it was to piss everyone off. Now there's like, 4 people, the 4 same people posting on the Kids in the Hall newsgroup everyday, 2 of them are under the age of 15. I know it would be a motherfucking party if Lynisse and I still posted, I think everyone needs to know about the dangers of ginseng and jerking off to Dave Foley's family pictures.

Anyway, my name is Baby Bison, and I am going to make you scream...

Unfortunately, there is no way to make a backwards K on the computer, so for lack of better technology, I must spell it as it stands, the phenominal night that will now be addressed in a past tense as "Hancock's wild 20th birthday bonanza". Did you know people smoke marijuana just for parties and shit? I had a real problem with it for a while, I didn't know whether or not to call myself a stoner. I'd like to proudly concur, however, that after as much thought as one can have after smoking up 4-6 times a day for a couple of years, that I have, in fact, contributed enough lost mind capacity to consider myself a stoner, perhaps for a longer time than I originally planned.

I have made a somewhat educated decision to return for a while, like a vacation, a three week vacation where I smoke a lot again. "Hancock's 20th wild birthday Bonanza" marked the one week mark. From here, I will make observations for the film. I of course can not tell you about what because I've been smoking a lot and last night I even found myself seriously and honestly questioning whether or not my 9 pound dog might viciously and maliciously bite off one of my toes whilst I slept in a stoner haze, hence trusting you with big hollywood secrets is a no go, ghostwriter.

Birdman is getting impatient, so i'll have to finish this when we get back from our sex vacation...

signing off,

BABY BISON

if i don't write this film, i am going to die

if i don't write this film, i am going to die

if i don't write this film, i am going to die

I don't even know if i should be talking to anyone about this, but it's such an obviously horrific situation i've gotten myself into lately.

I haven't been to work for weeks, I sit around and throw up and watch MTV, I don't want to fuck, I don't want to eat, and they're taking my health insurance away because i was approximately 2.35 hours under the requirement. I don't know how I got 8 grand in debt, i can't remember the last time I bought a new bra, I haven't read the newspaper since, and I am admitting this, the seventh fucking grade, I want to know where the fuck all of my money went, I sat down for two hours yesterday trying to remember how and when and where I lost my virgininty, to no avail.

I've been sick, quite sick, I have lost complete touch with reality, and I throw up about 5 times a day. My dog barely remembers who I am unless I have a jerky treat, or a greenie, it's dog crack, I barely knew it existed until I got two dogs.

Have I ever even talked about my dogs? Well, i have two of them, combined they are under 15 pounds, and they're probably snacking on a pair of my panties as I blog from birdman's house, because I can't even handle staying at home for more than 15 minutes out of the day. Dogs really can't eat chocolate, apparently they actually do die, and they can't have onions either, and i'm sure other shit that's fallen on the ground or has been on the ground because we can't afford a vaccuum. And of course I had to get the sickest dog in the world, and he eats screws and shit, and i have to take him to the vet every ten days because he's allergic to smoke and dust and apparently me, because i've been taking him to the doctor more than i've been taking me.

Is it wrong that i've never been tested for any STD's? Is it wrong that i'm seriously afraid of knowing whether or not I have some terrible disease?

It's so fucking easy to stop smoking, but it's so fucking hard to get away from it. I feel like i'm in that american gladiators game, where the gladiator is on the platform, and you have to shoot the bullseye over their head, and you have to jump from pod to pod, and not get hit by enemy gladiator orange balls.

It's almost as annoying as getting stuck being the only person left listening to a boring group conversation, and you can't not look at the person talking because everyone else has jumped their attention to family guy.

Everywhere I end up, everyone else is smoking, the stoners are always fucking smoking. I know if I go to Wench's house, i'm going to smoke, this is my cousin and my sister's house, this is family, this is not something you can just give up, this is like that boring motherfucker that's droning on about their part time job, like they're the only person with a part time job, when all you want to do is watch the Gazelle infomercial.

I started writing the movie in July, in fact, to be specific, I started writing this movie about 4 years ago, in my head, little clips and camera angles, fucking sounds corny doesn't it? fucking sucks not to be a genius, i'm sorry you don't get it if you don't...it's inescapable, it's tapping you on the shoulder, it's stealing your toilet paper, it's just not fucking funny anymore. My comedy is making my life unfunny, so I have to ask one question...

If you can only make yourself laugh, does it still make you a comedian?

i've lost my touch, i don't know if I've ever had one, but i've lost something, and my wallet and my keys are still in my purse, i put them in there this evening.

i don't know what else to say, i hope i write this movie, because i'm going to die