Faith moans about modern art and questions her own ability to mimick it.

I'm eating a bar of milka daime, listening to alternative-countrytechnofolk and finishing the art coursework that I have been putting off all weekend.
My hair is greasy as a deep fried...ball...of...grease... and there isn't a chance in hell that I am going to drag my sorry animated corpse out of my wonderful bed in 7 hours to wash it, so everyone will have to put up with my not-been-washed-for-three-days hair at school tomorrow in favour of my not-failing-art.
Well...That's actually looking somewhat questionable, as my artist's copy of 'Iris' by Alphonse Mucha, which is supposed to look like this:

Is looking somewhat more akin to an image of this capacity:

Life never gets old when you draw like an underachieving ferel dogbaby, whose qualities are better suited for howling at neighbours and/or drinking dirty water from a bowl.

Over and out.