Wishes

Dear God,

It's me! Sarah! Whaddya mean you don't know who the fuck I am? Well, let's get past that, shall we? I was young. Hawwwwww.

Just kidding folks. I am not e-mailing the big guy... I am just in desperate need of a new effing JOB. I know. I just staretd this one, but it's a DOOZY.

AMAZINGLY enough, I am not allowed to wear my fave outfit:



It's an ass-magnet people. NEVAH before have I gotten so much play (yipes, I kind of just threw up in my mouth a little when I wrote 'ass-magnet')...

But instead I must settle for more traditional polka dotted fare.



WTF, peeps? This is killing my soul- my lively Freeman soul that gambols (and gambles) like a wee lamb about the fields of barley (cheers to Sting for letting me use that one).

Aidez-moi! I will do anything, with ONE exception- Personal Assistant to Billy Joel
Cannot. Will not. Let the man drown in a puddle of his own vomit. And with that, I'm GHOSTIES! See yaaaaaa.