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The Terrible Writings of Quentin Montejo
Serial experiments on a fallen archangel who only wanted to regain just one wing back
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Free of the World. Rain worshipper. Hermit. Tormented mind.
Caged spirit. Defiant and eternal enemy of Destiny and Fate. Poet. Scientist. Artist. Daydreamer.
He who laughs. Slacker. Sleeper. Romancer of wings and clouds. Fiercely independent. He who is ponderous.
Games and anime junkie. Four eyes. Caveman. Nature-lover. He who doesn't think that hard. Non-smoker.
Music-junkie. Counter of blessings. Guitar-hugger.
He who simply wants what everybody else would like to be in this world and the next -- to be happy. |
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Friday, March 11, 2005
Sins of the Father
Looks like my folks has gone from bad to worse. My own dear beloved fucking father raised his hand on his own son -- my brother. He must be going mad. I'm pretty certain that right now, I am inches from restraint not to kick his ass out of his own house. Mom went back to Dasma, and is sick right now, with my brother attending to her.
My brother is still a fucking cry baby. Called my phone the other night sobbing like a sissy. After I beat the living daylights out of my dear beloved fucking dad, I'll beat the living daylights out of him. Fight you moron. posted by Quentin |
9:56 AM
3 Comments:
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