No Time for Resting folks
Just when i thought things couldn't get any wierder for me right now...well, they do.
get weirder, that is.
it'll have to be soon.
dammit jim, i'm a carpenter, not carpentry.
lamb's 'cottonwool' is playing right now, though it's A Guy Called Gerald remix. Which makes it incredibly different and better. in some ways.
for some reason, i just had a memory flash of being in Detroit over Memorial Day weekend this year, at this dude's apartment in downtown Detroit. the place was just fairly mellow, but fine. interesting.
i left my bag there and had to go back to get it.
thank god it was still there.
people would have had to pay.
hmmm, did i just hear gunshots?
who cares? at least the NRA gets to jack off for another evening of riotous gunplay.
second amendment savages.
ah, the roommate awakens to the fetid stench of foul odors galore.
may the gods of pusho rock my goddamn fireating blow-job bobbing heads-a-robbin puto butterjumpers.
so sayeth the shepherd.
so sayeth the flock.
god bless porky's revenge.
or so they say, back in italy.
or was it spain?
it all happened so suddenly back in italy, didn't it?
it was all a big nightmare, until the carpenters came.
and that bitch karen carpenter didn't know shit anyway, being dead and anorexic and all. mary kate ain't got nothin' on that bitch.
tell me, mr. mason, is your moustache thin enough?
'ghost story' rocked my world too, despite the negative reviews. i say, let 'em crash.
chuck my pumpkin into your lake,
ooh, somebody's a wittle pissed off, huh?
pussy ass bitches ain't got not slang for the meter maids.
kitchen breaths for all you pigeon suckers.
that bassline has subsided.
and lo, the opposite volumte has turned louder, deadlier, nastier, confrontational. i can't wait to hear what i'm accused of.
glory be, my life is a-changing.
i'm soon out of this godforsaken wormhole and the moral vaccuum that exists on these premises.
fuck china too.
just for safety's sake.
and remember, safety third.
bitch ass bitches got my shit on my cracker ass cumquat bitch.
take me home country roads.
take me home to the place where i belong
take me home, bitch,
i just mean nothing i say except for the specific words that i'm serious about.
it's your job as a reader to decipher and deconstruct this means of communication... or communication breakdown, if you will.
and i do be john wilkes booth.
fuck that moustache loving aaron burr.
tell the children i've slaughtered their favorite burro.
pagan optometry forever,