So today has been a very busy and eventful day.
It started by me and Olivia getting up. I went down to the kitchen where I find my 19 year old brother sitting, drinking coffee. He had bruises in his entire face, a bust lip and his entire body was aching. He went out with a friend yesterday, and around 2am he was gonna go home, but was hungry so he was going to buy a sandwich first. On the way to the sandwich place a group of men, 5 of them actually, around 25 years old jumps him for no reason and starts beating him up. They throw him on the ground and starts kicking and hitting him all over and in the head. Then they stop and run away. Also for no reason.
My brother gets up and walks to the sandwich place, because there are people there. He calls my mom who comes and picks him up. Mom and my brother has spent the day at the police and the hospital getting all of this documented. He is a bit...sad and angry to say the least. This pisses me off beyond what you can ever comprehend. WHY ON EARTH DO PEOPLE DO THIS? My brother did nothing to deserve this, he didnt even talk to them. Or know who they are. Fuck fuckedi fuck fuck.
Me, dad and Olivia went to IKEA today. Takes about 2 hours to drive there. I was driving. Half way there I smell something weird. Dad says its fire. We cant locate where the fire is though. It was in the car to our big surprice. The stereo was burning. Goodie. And just as we noticed that it was on fire, 4 reindeers walks out on the motorway, we are driving in about 110 km/h. Break, let the reindeers walk by and then get the stereo out. Goodie.
And then we did some shopping, went over the border to Finland, ate some food. And then went back home.
Monday I'm leaving people, and will return on December 16. Bye until then

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Jag vet var din vassrugge bor.
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I know where your mailbox lives.
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Jag vet var din vassrugge bor.
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I know where your mailbox lives.
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Jag vet var din vassrugge bor.
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I know where your mailbox lives.
De finns i min journal... MOHAHA.
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PASSA DIG, JAG BITS. <3
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I know where your mailbox lives.
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