EMOEMOEMOEMO:EMOEMOEMEOEMROMOSDMFGAKSJDKAJFKSALJKAJFDKSLAJ~!!!!!!! MYSPACE. As in, I have one. As in, how fucking emolicious is that? It makes me want to just slit my wrists in emo-kitten sadness! Oh god. I can't believe I've stooped this low...uh emo. I can't even BE emo, I'm so sickened. But I actually can. Ready? Ok: Oh Em Gee. My emo unhappiness was forced to view House of Wax on Friday. It was SO very emo I could not help but cry crimson tears of regret and dead babies and oh, kittens of emo yore, why do you not heed my blessings of love and scamper to my scarred arms of woe? Oh houses made of wax, how I adore you. Your emoness is like my heart: if someone touches you, you'll melt...or something. Woe is me, for the sadness and emoness that I feel is just so consuming that I must listen to Billy Talent cry tears of love and regret over the poor notebook that he has left in the car that the emo-kid went to kill himself in. My tears of regret are pouring now, and I pray to the emo bible to take my plea as it loves me for who my emokittenness really is...and then some.