:: Friday, March 22, 2002 ::

Yeah, well, I just don't even understand. Or maybe I do understand, but I just pretend like I don't get it. The main thing is that my fingers work too fast. My middle finger is like an antibiotic for my soul's ballsack. It makes me mad, but only in a way that I can but pretend to comrehend.

Now I do love College basketball, and College basketball may (or may not) make my underbritches crawl their underbritch asses up my ass, but at any rate, you can't take anything away from it. If you want to add, you just need to find a sponsor. But, if you want to take away from it, well, then, I suppose, you will need to sniff and, perhaps, suck my balls.
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To Wit: my lips may be too much trouble for the cold sores and dead skin that live to live above. Would you like to be a protrusion? Would you like to be a ho-bag?
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The final something is less than final. We have the sort of solid, wooden outcome that we proprose is best to look at, in particular for someone of your caliber (a solid gauge better than any bitch-ass bitchass might hope to impact), from a vantage point where your ass-hole becomes an ass-hole of luv (so to speak)!

Let's forget it all, and rely on the fact that I cannot puncture that which I do not properly comprehend. So, if you are looking for punctuation, I am not your woman. I am your tool. As a tool, naturally enough, I malfunction when least needed. And (also as a tool) I perform the sort of task that you have had borne within yourself, but which you may not yet COMPREHEND.

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When I press on my ear, it hurts. I think I will stop pressing it now. Hey! That's an accidental Haiku I just wrote. Now this one is intentional:

When I press on my
Ear, it hurts. I think I will
Stop pressing it now.

That's really just about it. Thanks.

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I can't friggin' sleep and I lost my post. You would have liked it, too. It was about sleeping disorders and life changes. It was profound. Poetic. It said crap like "node in the webbing" and "anxious crossroads". There was also a cleverly composed littany of situations that signal serious changes to the course of a human life--punctuated artistically by death ("cash out"). You would be able to read it if I were not such a very, very easily distracted fellow.

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Sometimes it tastes like a blueberry, sometimes it tastes all spicy and complex, but Bass beer always hits the spot. One time I made a prank call to this bar where I kept asking the guy if he had any English Beers, and he just kept saying "no. We don't have anything on tap". I was using this super sneaky foreign-sounding accent--sort of a cross between Indian and Southern American. He didn't know, because he was no linguist. Also the bar was very noisy and busy and he couldn't have cared less. I tape recorded that prank call and played it for friends of mine and there would be laughter and tears.

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Son of beeech. Son of beeeeeech. It is 2002, the year of the palindrome. I think there should be a better word than 'palindrome' to describe a palindromious situation. The word itself should be a palindrome. Maybe it should be called a 'palinilap' or an 'agrotobotorga' or something like that. Who's with me? Either you are with me or you are with the terrorists, if you know what I'm saying (and I don't think you do). I hear you knocking but you cain't come in, for instance.

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