Post by XxXpandabearXxX on May 12, 2008 22:22:50 GMT -5
"How am I supposed to write a song about pizza? Seriously, pizza? It's great and all, but it's pizza. It's...saucy. Okay. Sauc...y. And it has meat sometimes. And cheese. OOH, CHEESE. I want cheese now. Ugh. Where was I? Yes, pizza. Mmm...pizza. Now I'm just getting hungry! Who put pizza in my song-writing hat anyhows!?" exclaimed Panda, as she threw down her pencil. She groaned, and raked a hand thorugh her pale hair. Song-writing, of late, was difficult. Not that the band used her songs all that often anyway - they were just fun. But all the same - they were her hobby. And since someone had started sneaking silly things into her song-writing hat - a great big black top-hat with a rainbow ribbon and a heart-brooch - she'd been finding it near impossible to write anything good.
Panda picked up her pencil and gnawed on the end. "Pizza. Pizza...Eat-ya? Close enough." she jotted down in a little pink spiral note-book. Shaking her head, she ripped out the offending page. She threw it into the chair opposite, and laid her head upon the table before her, narrowly missing a tall cup filled with frothy strawberry thickshake. Such frustration wasn't healthy. And what did Panda do when frustrated? Eat. Or exercise. But being in Starbucks [what a cliche, a writer in Starbucks!], food was a closer, easier option.
She ordered a few cookies, and a croissant, and started to dig in. She took a small packet of McDonald's French Fries from her satchel and devoured them quickly, dipping them in the strawberry thickshake and knocking them back. Her fatty, sugary, salty drugs.
Panda picked up her pencil and gnawed on the end. "Pizza. Pizza...Eat-ya? Close enough." she jotted down in a little pink spiral note-book. Shaking her head, she ripped out the offending page. She threw it into the chair opposite, and laid her head upon the table before her, narrowly missing a tall cup filled with frothy strawberry thickshake. Such frustration wasn't healthy. And what did Panda do when frustrated? Eat. Or exercise. But being in Starbucks [what a cliche, a writer in Starbucks!], food was a closer, easier option.
She ordered a few cookies, and a croissant, and started to dig in. She took a small packet of McDonald's French Fries from her satchel and devoured them quickly, dipping them in the strawberry thickshake and knocking them back. Her fatty, sugary, salty drugs.