Dear Diary: Heather told me she teaches people ‘real life.’ She said, real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly. I said, so, you teach people how to spread their wings and fly? She said, yes. I said, you're beautiful.
Catalog
Veronica Sawyer
I prayed for the death of Heather Chandler many times and I felt bad every time I did it but I kept doing it anyway. Now I know you understood everything. Praise Jesus, Hallelujah.
Tomorrow, I'll be kissing her aerobicized ass, but tonight, let me dream of a world without Heather, a world where I am free.
Veronica Sawyer: Heather, why can't you just be a friend? Why do you have to be such a mega-bitch? Heather Duke: Because I can be.
You're a rebel? You think you're a rebel? You're not a rebel, you're fucking psychotic!
Heather McNamara: God, aren't they fed yet? Do they even have Thanksgiving in Africa? Veronica Sawyer: Oh, sure. Pilgrims, Indians, Tater Tots. It's a real party continent.
Veronica Sawyer: That knife is filthy. Jason Dean: What do you think I'm going to do with it, take out her tonsils? Veronica Sawyer: Excuse me, I think I know Heather a little bit better than you do. If she were going to slit her wrists, the knife would be spotless.
I say we just grow up, be adults, and die.
Heather McNamara: Suicide is a private thing. Veronica Sawyer: You're throwing your life away to become a statistic on US fucking A Today. That's about the least private thing I can think of.
This isn't just a spoke in my menstrual cycle.
Veronica Sawyer: I can't believe this is my life. Oh my God. I'm gonna have to send my SAT scores to San Quentin instead of Stanford. Jason Dean: Ah, right. I'm just a little freaked here. Well at least you got what you wanted, you know? Veronica Sawyer: Got what I wanted? It is one thing to want…
What is your damage, Heather?
Lick it up, baby. Lick it up.
Veronica: If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you? Heather McNamara: Probably.
Well, it’s just like they’re people I work with and our ‘job’ is being popular and shit.
Betty Finn was a true friend and I sold her out for a bunch of Swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads. Killing Heather would be like offing the wicked witch of the West...wait, East. West! God! I sound like a fucking psycho.
What's the up-chuck factor on that?
I use my grand IQ to decide what lip gloss to wear in the morning and how to hit three keggers before curfew.
Are we going to prom or to hell?
If you were happy every day of your life, you wouldn’t be a human. You’d be a game show host.