Dear Diary, my teen angst bullshit has a body count.
F*** me gently with a chainsaw.
I love my dead gay son.
If you were happy every day of your life, you wouldn’t be a human. You’d be a game show host.
I’m here for your worst. And no one here’s afraid to die.
Can I borrow your pen? Just kidding, life is meaningless.
My love for you is like this scar on my face. Unwavering and permanent.
Sorry, but I’m not into playing footsies with Satan’s minions tonight.
Veronica, look! Heather’s about to get destroyed by her own lipstick salute!
Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.
This isn’t just a spoke in my menstrual cycle.
Bulimia is so ’87.
Irony can be pretty ironic sometimes.
Grow up. Bulimia’s so ’87.
Life’s so unbearable, so unfathomable. I can barely handle it in HD.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me.
I don’t patronize bunny rabbits. I kill them.
I like it. Not a lot, but I like it.
Happiness and feminism can’t coexist.
I’m a Veronica. I am the only one that you don’t want in your club.
I feel like I’m riding on a small bus full of disoriented librarians.
I’d f*** his brains out just to see if God exists.
I’m worshiping at the foot of the Holy Queen of Obviousness.
There’s no such thing as a normal person.
Color me stoked.
Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling.
It’s time to take off my brain, put it in a blender, and hit frappe.
You’d think a gunshot wound to the stomach would prove you weren’t a pansy.
The only place I shoplift is Whole Foods because they can afford it.
I can’t believe I’m having coffee with a psychotic kleptomaniac.
The only place different social types can genuinely get along is in heaven.
Life’s a bitch and so am I.
If you were happy every day of your life, you wouldn’t be a human. You’d be a game show host.
Popular people are a**holes.
People will look at the ashes of Westerburg and say, ‘Now there’s a school that self-destructed, not because society didn’t care, but because the school was society.’
Our love is God. Let’s go get a slushie.
You were nothing before you met me. You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn. You were a Bluebird. You were a Brownie. You were a Girl Scout Cookie.
I don’t like your friend Heather. I don’t want you seeing her anymore.
If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be doing this. You’d be at home watching television.
Veronica, I think you should really seek professional help.
I say we just grow up, be adults, and die.
Sometimes, I’d just like to grow up, be an adult, and die.
You can’t kill someone with kindness. That’s not how it works. You have to be a bitch. Like me.
Heather Mac, you’re beautiful.
Heather Chandler, Heather Duke, and me, Heather McNamara. We rule Westerburg together.
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