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Here we go, it's time to explore my mind. Some may get lost on this excavation. This is not for the faint of heart. Or children under the age of forty. Make that eighty. Actually, eighty's too fragile. Don't want any oldsters dropping dead from strokes. Okay. Sixty. You have to be sixty. The next five minutes, I will write down everything that pops in my head, without filtering. Here we go. Three, two, one...
Wow, this is exciting. I wonder who will read this. Ah, don't care. I hate Pompom. She sucks. And she's ugly. But not as bad as Pate. Ew. I hate Pate. Pompom and Pate. Maybe I just hate ducks. Like Miranda. Stupid pink blob of Ugly... Anyway, I spent three hours laughing to myself today because I had fenced in Pompom with a cage made of holes I dug in the ground. She just glared at me from her seclusion when I waved. I remember when Apollo first moved to my town in Wild World, he used to glare at me when I'd wave to him. Two months later he brought me my birthday cake. Birthday suit. Wow. Random. Who thought of the phrase "birthday suit" anyway? I just say "Naked". That's a song by Avril Lavigne. She's a Canadian. I wonder if she like maple leaves. I have a bikini with maple leaves on it. It says "Canada Rocks" on the arse. Ha. I said arse. Actually I say that a lot. Weird. I just realized I have school tomorrow. And it's almost eleven, and I'm doing nothing. Well, I'm doing this. But it's kind of pointless. I wonder what we'd write with if we didn't have pencils. We'd probably just carve our homework into hunks of wood. Oh wow I'm bored. I'm thinking about going downstairs and grabbing one of those brownies off the stove. My iPod has just notified me that Brody Thorne commented on his status. Well, thank you iPod. You life-saver, you! I don't know what I'd do if you weren't around to tell me these things. I just remembered when I was in Girl Scouts. I was, like, seven-ish. And I dared my friend Kylie to eat a caterpillar. And she stuffed it down my pants. And it crawled around my business. By the time I was composed enough to pull it out, it had died. Oh god. I just said that. Typed it. So other people will see it. And I can't undo it. I promised NO FILTERING. No loitering. Loitering makes me think of loincloths. Oh, times up.
I hope you enjoyed this exploration Inside Shelby's Brain. Don't give me crap, or I'll find you... ;)