Spleen. Toe Jam. Smorgasbord. Guglimucci.

No, I am not having thought-to-keyboard diarrhea, I just doubt that anyone is reading this right now. Or will ever bother reading it. Ahahaha. What a wonderful world it is to supply us with such phantasmagoric words. Hehe.

Okay, now that I am partially sane, I have decided to write a condensed autobiography about my llife, even though people probably won't give shit in a hat it about but that's okay I have nothing better to do today anyways.

My name is Paris Van Landowees. My real name is an anagram of Paris Van Landowees. (My whole name, first-middle-last, or else my parents would be very cruel people, branding with something that has seventeen letters in it. No offense to people who have first names with seventeen letters in them.)

I am 92-minus-77 years old.

I've been writing stories, obssesive/compulsively, since I was 85-minus-66 years old.

I've read the dictionary. For fun. No, this does not mean I have alot of free time. In fact, I don't even know how I'm getting the free time to write this Condensed Autobiography.

I once worked at McDonalds. For about a month. As a dare. It was a very dark time in my life, and I'd rather not talk about it anymore as to leave my emotional wounds unopened and not interfere with the healing process.

My pet peeves are things that touch my windpipe and when people walk into my bedroom, open the door, and then DON'T CLOSE IT WHEN THEY LEAVE.

My two favourite quotes usually alternate between:

"Shoot for the stars. Even if you miss, you will land amongst them." -Anonymous

or

"You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else." -Chuck Palahniuk

depending on what day it is and if I'd had enough vitamin D.

I'm not a depresso. I just come off as one. Sorry about that, I'm actually very cheery. :P