Announcement!
A message to all teeny punks:
Stop writing shitty poetry. We don't give a shit about the pain inside, or how you dropped your fucking ice cream. Someone with the ablilty to be a poser punk obviously doesn't know the meaning of pain. There are children in africa worrying about where their next meal will come from, not about which shitty pre-studded belt they bought at old navy they plan to wear. Good Charlotte SUCKS, Sum 41 SUCKS, P.O.D. SUCKS, and all of your shitty, poser-punk bands can bend over and take it up the ass.
Also, do us a favor and don't mope around all day like a freak. Take some prozac like a normal person and shut the fuck up.

This message has been brought to you by Neight and Eliot's Bad Poetry and Short Stories Trust.