If you haven't realized my love for four loko yet, let it be known. I'm loko for four loko.
Hey B, remember when I was convinced someone kidnapped my brother, he some how managed to obtain a pizza, we asked that guy what he was selling, and you puked behind a dumpster and then we all blacked out?
This is basically what happens. When my brother called me, we were both on four lokos, and our conversation went like this:
me: What? him: Where are you? me: Who is this?! him: akjaa! it's your boorthguur! me: THIS ISNT MY BROTHER! Let me fuckjin tawk to my fucking brother. him: HAHAHAHA akjsfknaaa this is akaa your brother hahaha me: HAHAHAA WHATASJF! ISSK ODKFHN IT?
Yeah it was just slurring.. and yelling.. and we would interrupt each other, by just talking louder over the other person. Not to mention cutting my leg up on a bush, some how attaining a bruise.. the list goes on. Four lokos is another level. Truth.
Consistently making a mess of things, she's either "funny" or "weird". Botcho usually finds herself awake for too long despite her love of sleep. She's busy exploring the world with a taste for fashion, concerts, breaking rules, hair dying and pizza. She only calls herself a writer in an attempt for her blog to make sense. For all business inquiries, you can contact her mom.
syntifik@hotmail.com
