Yo!

What are you here for? I hope you didn't assume you'd find an autobiographical account of my life that would make me more personable to you. I'm a pathological liar, and as soon as you trust something I say you're as good done for. Maybe you thought you'd send me a PM to tell someone about how you spend your lonely Friday nights. In that case, let's talk until 2 am Pacific time so that I can rip you to shreds the size of confetti in my blog. If you caught a glimpse of the photos that've been floating around and thought that I'd make the perfect bride, then slide a rock onto my finger and spirit me away to the altar so I can leave you standing there alone while I consummate with another. Perhaps you even thought me to be a celebrity of sorts and wished to worship me as a deity. Feel free, and you can raise statues in my homosexual, immaculately conceived son's honor.

Wanna get to know me? Softening me up with sour apple flavored candy offerings might help. I like long, romantic walks through mine-filled beaches, and if you're a fellow iguana owner, then we're probably a perfect match. I like my friends mean. I like my music loud and my songs full of that "it" factor. I like my sex with no strings attached, and my coffee with four creams, two and a half sugars, and a little potassium cyanide for extra umph. I'm not like an onion because underneath the skin are just my internal organs. I'm more akin to a house of mirrors; you see the same thing every time in a different way. That is all. Now spirit yourself away.