My motorcycle, James Dean, wouldn't start for me today. This troubles me for a few reasons. The first concerns my romantic life. James Dean is the best pick-up line I have. I don't have to do anything but lean suavely, and rev the engine a bit. The girls come running. Now that he is not working, I am going to have to turn my charm up a notch or two.
I am taking James Dean's battery dying personally. It's like he just broke up with me.
What's wrong with me? Why am I not good enough to keep him alive? This has turned up the volume on already existing concerns.
Am I really that dull of a person to slowly suck the life out of the most exciting, blood rushing machine in existence?
Whatever James, Fuck you. I was faking every time I screamed out in joy while riding you. You're really not that good.
- Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with Good-Bye.
You think I'd crumble,
you think I'd lay down and die.
Oh no, not I.
I will survive.... bitch
Avery
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