Bank of America Sucks.

I am crying right now. Want to know why? Bank of America is making my family move from the house that I grew up in. This is the house where I have lived almost my entire life. I can only ever remember living here. It is home to me. And why are they taking it away? Why can't we rent, or lease? Just so they can have a few more dollars in their paycheck. This is my life that they are giving away. Twelve years of my existence, twelve years of memories, gone. If anyone who works at Bank of America ever reads this, I have a question for you; how can you live with yourself? How do you feel about robbing people, not only of their homes and money, but of their childhood, their memories? How can you justify doing this? Are a few more dollars worth taking the home from a family? These are not rhetorical. Please, I'd like to know.

Kill me now.

I'm sick. I am really, really sick. I woke up this morning with a searing head Churnoble and a tummy ache. The tummy problem I tried to solve by eating something. It worked for a while, until ten, at which point I promptly puked. I will never look at Cheerios the same way ever again. After that happened, I made myself some tea and sat down with a copy of Fareignheight 451 until my parents found me about 10 minutes later. I tried to speak to them. They were duly horrified. Not from my story, they couldn't tell what I was saying. I think it was the fact that I sounded like a Teradactyl with bronchitis, crying alone in a cave. It was sad. On a happier note, it's Superbowl Sunday, which for our family means Anti-Superbowl time! We are going to sit and eat snacks and watch movies that we pull out of a fez. Throw as many Korean action movies in there as you want, Dad! I'm watching Victor/Victoria and Doctor Who! Bring it, larengytis!