Grammar is My Pony.

I think that there's gotta be some radius deficiency somewhere, but you never know
and I don't eat enough anyways, nor do I drink enough water, but what's there to do about that? Maybe I can spend my money on a body builder boyfriend. Fuck him.
I've planned more than your grandma's brother when he was getting married and spilled soup all over the maid of honor - who was a man anyways - or at least will be for me, and I just want to stay in and be alone. The minute I do that though, and VROOM I'm fucking lonely and crying all over the dashboard to happy songs.
What is wrong with me? I have absolutely no clue and I suppose, screw it, although all I really want is a love letter.
I am not very career oriented, and I am sorry, because no accomplishment brings me much pleasure, just bragging material. And I don't even give a shit. Smile at your table and I'll roll on and see if I can get to my car before you call me.
Looks like I'm always winning.
Goddamn orange peels.