I like to sleep. I like to websurf. What else am I supposed to do? Go downtown. sure. But where to? Starbucks? The library? That's about as exciting as it gets. It's not like I live in NYC or fuckin LA... I'm so street with my Transplants listening and my combat-boots wearing,, but I'm stuck in this suburban small town with conservative parents and absolutely no money to go to a punk-rock concert.
Five thousand and sixty seven years ago, the robotic crane drove me threw space from my birthplace, the red planet, and dropped me off in the ancient mesoamerican civilization, the Mayan empire. From there I traveled north to my home town of Rachel, Nevada, I stayed their until the year of one-thousand, nine hundred and ninety-three, when people started getting suspicious of the nearby test area, where I went to work every day. I moved to Cincinnati, Ohio and decided to approach the world with an outlook that says "fuck authority, I'm making my own rules" so I became an awesome punk rocker who is just all punk rock anarchist yeh yeh. I'm made of pure awesomeness, live off of oreos. I Drink kyptonite at the bar and I dress cruddier than a drug-dealer. My best friend is Sacagawea and my eight husbands are Albert Einstein, Shia Lebouf, Tim Armstrong, Johnny Rotten, Sid Vicious, Lars Fredrickson, and Mark Webber. I consult with my psychic Jeanne Dixon every day, and that is how I know That I will live forever.