I'm just gonna leave the dragon on the floor, because everytime I touch it, it flushes.

That is an actually sentence I uttered on the phone last night to Alex. I will let you wonder for a few moments about my sanity and what this could possibly mean.






Okay, ready? Here's the story.

Evil has a face:

 

This creature has been in my living room since Saturday, when my niece came over and left it here. It's not surprising to me that my niece would possess such a thing, as it is believed that she is the anti-Christ. (I will elaborate more on this in a later blog post. Be afraid.) Anyway, this is a monstrosity from the movie How to Train Your Dragon. It's name? Red Death. I'm fucking shitting my pants now. That's a scary ass name. The creature isn't even Red. But it is Death. That much is clear. So, on further inspection of the creature, I found out that Evil also has a noise. And the noise is what is supposed to be a dragon roar, but sounds more like a toilet flushing. The worst thing about this noise? The creature is very sensitive, and if you barely touch its belly, it flushes at you. It's not like those other toys that you have to throw against a wall to get it to make a noise. (I love those toys because they teach you that violence is okay, as long as your victim makes a silly noise.) Another horrible thing about the noise is that if you accidentally touch it again while it's in the middle of making a noise, the noise will stop and start over. (I hate that. Mostly because kids find it hilarious to keep poking at a toy that does this, so that the sound will never end.) I want to kill it, but I'm too afraid to touch it.

And that, dear readers, is the story of the Flushing Dragon in My Living Room.

Seriously? My blog sucks.

It took me like 5 minutes to figure out how to make a post.

I bet no one's going to read this. But I think I'm a pretty funny, witty person, so I'm gonna blog. Blog, blog, blog.

Hello, I'm Mariah. Call me that. Don't call me Mariah Carey. Unless you are over 50, because old people are awesome, and can say whatever they want. But I doubt that anyone over 50 would read a blog titled "Skull Fuck," so I better just not see anyone calling me that.

This is what I look like:

I'm a mischievous mother fucker. Also, I'm incredibly cocky, so if you call me ugly or something, I won't believe you and I will laugh like this: Ha Ha Ha!


An important thing you need to know about me is that I have a boyfriend. And I hate to be hit on. Like, a lot. I don't think it's cute. I don't want you, kay?
My boyfriend is amazing. His name is Alex, but I call him Baby. I never call him Alex. No idea why. It's just weird. But in my blog, I will refer to him as Alex, because I understand the confusion and anxiety it will cause in my (soon-to-be) readers if I kept saying things about "Baby." (I was exaggerating about the confusion and anxiety thing, but if you feel this way while reading anything in my blog, let me know, so I can feel like I accomplished something.)

Yes, with this blog, I want to completely skull-fuck people. I plan on blogging about the strangest things that most people probably don't think about. But I'm a funny little person, and I think about everything. And sharing is caring, so I bring my thoughts to you. I've never done this before, so bear with me while I try to figure this crap out.

So, for now, goodbye. I will be trying to figure out how to make my blog all fancy and what-not.