my bonnie lies over the ocean

oh my oh me oh what oh hee.

good golly miss molly, i know you got a lot to say. but you ain't going fucking nowheres unless you give up some pay.

yeah man, i sure do love biscuits graveyards and peanuts.
better than onions my friend, better than onions.
or mayonaisse if you catch my drift.

or nobby.

look at that man sitting in the tree.
k-i-s-s-i-n-g.
first comes love,
then comes marriage
then you're pushing a baby carriage.

puto.
elevator musik by the rez band really sucked.

oh and check out adam ant. he's a fine fellow is he not?

grandma chicken for sure.
Adam Ant's fine new song

stone cold shiver.

saturday evening, i was treated to a lovely, just lovely, dining experience at san francisco's beloved Hooters franchise, in your favorite place, Fisherman's Wharf.
Ah, the irony.
Culture shock, to be sure, but admittedly, it was also a smirking good time. at one point, our voluptuous 18-year-old waitress from pacifica asked me (after being tipped off by my preening hosts, fools!) if i'd like to go out in the middle of hooters and be embarassed in front of a crowd of rowdy males predominantly aged 15-22.
"of course!" i said.
i was led to the middle of the restaurant, whereby i was given two medium sized balloons that were then stuck up my shirt by our darling waitress and told to stand on a chair next to the two other birthday boys.
naturally, i began rubbing my big breasts immediately, much to the delight of the youngsters present.
after being introduced as turning 21 (!), i stepped down and gave up my breasts. satisfied.

family hour, for sure.