Kyokka do you know what has happened?! A zit! A plump, half ripe mountain of a felony has set up base on my face. A pimple so huge, it looks like a teabag has attached itself to my cheek.
This simply won’t do. I cannot accept bumpage! Have you ever seen Alek Wek with grip? Nada. We baldies need to have faces that look like they get marinated in milk on a regular.
All this derma-drama because of EXCITOSSSSSS. I’m looking forward to 411 so much that my body isn’t satisfied with involving feelings. It’s bringing in hormones as well.
You know how Catholic school girls have a rep for partying like drag queens and being very shady indeed when they finally attain ‘freedom’? Hmn. They can’t even begin to touch the enthusiasm of the (usually) curfew-ed tween. If I am braving dogs, gate spikes and banishment to jump for this harre, I’m not going to allow a zit to come between me and drop dead mamanyabocomeandsee hotness.
Breaking News! This just in! Read the next paragraph with enthusiasm!!!!!!!
I have just, now now, established for sure that this harree is going to be legendawesome. How? I popped the formidable pimple two minutes ago. Before I’d even gotten my fingers into proper pressure applying position, thick things stumbled, oozed, badunkadrooged out. Grrrut. Grrrut. Gruuuuut. And in the yellow mess on my face, I saw a complete and total blast.
Don’t be grossed out. Don’t puke in your mouth. If you already have, swallow it. I’m putting Colgate herbal on the angry sore. By 411, I will have returned to flyness.
Because we can’t allow your chief of security to look fake. Not even if what.