paste your face in disgrace, leather and lace, mace, taste, case bass
yeah, you know how we do.

SPECS adler museum bar is the bomb. you've got to go. you've got to go.you've got to go.
go go go go go go

fuckle.

background music now kicking it: Billie Holiday

just what i love to hear, financial discussions early in the morning.
yes, on the bart this morning (my 8:25 was nowhere to be found, btw, so i had to wait for the late-ass train for five whole minutes...see i count on that train being on time to get me to my work on time. of course, i'm always running late, but that's another story...) and these loud women are interrupting the silent sanctity of the 20-minute ride to SF by loudly talking about some sort of financial mumbo jumbo.
yah yah yah, who really gives a fuck, dumbo?
bitches man, bitches.

then, i get off the train (second off the train by the way, which is a feat in itself seeing as how everybody powerwalks/jogs to the escalator so they dont' have to get caught up in the human traffic pileup that always occurs ----- too much goddamn cream cheese yet again, but Prague is the only place that gets my bagel toasted the way i want it----) and i hear somebody singing. a woman.

i walk a few more steps toward Montgomery from the BART steps and look to my left toward Market and that's when I see her -- this tiny Asian woman, probably late 40s, with oddly colored hair for someone like her (a cross between dyed orange and red and black), singing some sort of nursery rhyme type melody. really loudly. of course, this being San Francisco, the most people got bent out of shape about it was getting a look of slight alarm on their face, like "what the fuck is that?" but people just walked on by, letting her sing loudly and also dance around in place. quite hilarious, i must say. and i do say.
yes'm.
grant me a wish and tell me a story.
i don't need to be jealous about shit because i'm doing what i want and enjoying it. so fuck fuck fuck.
press the button, hit the switch, this orange juice makes my butt itch.

here? near? Peer? queer? beer? leer? fear? tear?
that's not a generalization, that's a stereotype.

type me a riddle.

basically, i'm alive with envy. and green with syrup.

i'll find a way to infiltrate. talk to penners.
more weaving later.

tP

festering bloody nipple pinwheel action

i'm back from the dead and ready to party with the living again.
sure, my corpse isn't looking so pretty these days, but fuck it...at least i still have nostrils.
and harry nostrum hasn't beat me up yet today.

i just returned from a whirlwind weekend in detroit, where the girls are looking prettier than ever and the boys are more aggro than ever.
so fuck that aggro shit, yo. it's about the benjamins. or at least, benji, the dog.

i was angry that evening, friday evening to be specific, in which i yelled at the manager of red robin. but she had it coming. plus i was cranky, tired, grouchy, forcefieldless and without terrordome at my command. plus i hadn't slept much in the previous couple of weeks.
up the academy, as they say in america.
though i live in america, i come from a land downunda...cheese.

fromage, for the times of your life.

i met a girl named gemmie yesterday on the plane. she lived in reading, california. she was nice, though her parents are in hong kong attempting to avoid the war, which is troubling for spicy sauces.

i sing the body electric.

don't turn that frown upside down.
leave diana ross out of this too.
bitch, that she is, and i want to go to Inkster to ink up some new talent.

bludgeon that gopher. he's getting in the way of progress.

more later on these important developments, but first a message from Ovaltine, which really helps keep the spirits up in times of trouble, neglect, heartache and poonache.

let that band-aid be a lesson to you.

shovel crunt,

peeeno

don't forget to exfoliate the cabin
leave that skin in my mouth bitch
violin heat and king herod don't mix, especially when caesar augustus gets involved.

augustus! save some room for later!

hinkies,

sexy�lady�you�set�my�body�on�fire.
literally.
i�have�the�scars.
you�got�my�body�hot�girl.
make�my�dreams�a�reality
sexy�sexy�lady.
sexy�lady.
did�you�know�byrne�said�he�didn't�realize�how�raunchy�tina�was?
he�was�most�impressed,�for�a�byrne.
channel�your�ass�into�your�face�and�enjoy�chicken�again.
like�we�always�do�about�this�time
yeahh
sexy�yams
you�set�my�legwarmers�on�fire.
oh�baby
suckle�it.
give�me�love
hate,
cherish the cabin

let me kiss your lips
not the ones on your face.

jahwah bless quiet riot.

god is great!

jehovah's witnesses make such interesting pets.
such a tangled web we weave.
spider-man sucked my elephant's trunk.
wholly moses!
dudley moore is dead.
so much for "six weeks."
at least he died painfully.
nobody wants to die peacefully.

me, my eyes are going to be punctured out by a kitty and then i'll be savagely skinned alive because of a dispute over a parking spot.
should be gravy.
luckily, i'm a robot or that would all REALLY suck.

uranus is a good planet.
fuck neptune.

the new bay guardian has bush on the cover.
i repeat, there is bush.
i can see HAIR!!! oh my gawd!
and it's not the hair on her head.
it's the hair between her

underarms.

people want me to look at them when they behave.
i say fuck that shit.
they are in big trouble.
i had an interesting walk from north beach to embarcadero bart thursday night. it was fine.
friday i was sicker than a brick wall in afghanistan.
except i'm in brooklyn without the makeup.
kevin aucoin is waiting for me in heaven.
i'm listening to fischerspooner right now.
kevin aucoin would probably be shaking my willy now if he could.
but willie brown doesn't know shit.
although i just remembered one thing. willie brown, the man who leads san francisco against the bearers of doom and darkness in this topsy turvy world we call Shatternom, recently said that there are too many newspapers in the city. now i realize he's anti newspaper, something for the guardian always to get in a tizzy about, but fuck, there ARE newspapers flying around everywhere. there are indiscriminate boxes on every fucking corner of the city. do they really need THAT many boxes?
i'm certainly not for clear channel, fuckstains that they are and should die in horrible chemical bombing in which their flesh is eaten super slowly over five days, in which the victim is forced to live until his heart explodes in a burst of energy not unlike firecrackers and crackers alike.
so speak softly and carry a glass of vitamin c. i'm waiting for gushman.
but wouldn't that be cool, for people's skin to be eaten? i know i would like it.
people may say i'm being gross right now and may use this testimony against me in a court of law, but how am i any different than the fuckchimps at enron. they should be disemboweled and then set on fire in a grassy field in pakistan, then allow the locals to get a hold of them.
that should be the real punishment for enron execs. i shat down their carcass necka ss.

people may say i'm sick, and maybe they're not right, for they are fucking stupid, so unless you listen to america, it's time you woke up and realized bacon bits are not the things you think they are.
so there, titan foods, go and be hungry. you are not the paperback writers you say you are.

love cookies elemental p, and jenga,

plastic man representing for all the polymer downtrodden