Tuesday, June 24, 2003

I’m feeling much better today, thank you. a combination of my preternaturally efficient immune system and day-time plain wrap cold medicine has produced a nice feeling of happy non throat pain inducement vis-à-vis the Canadian contingent not sending over their best men to do the job.

Yup, they’re all dead. Every last one of them. Thought just cuz I was a little under the weather they could take me out, but despite their years of training and weapons skills including a 3rd generation nunchaku master, they were totally unprepared for someone with my skills and experience.

Their bodies have been disposed of by an EPA approved corpse handler. Not the environmental protection agency, though, you pilon, but the extranormal parasitical anachnronists, you know, the guys who control that small piece of dynamite that resides directly beneath my medulla oblongata, of which I have no recourse but to do their bidding, except for Tuesdays and Thursdays, whoaday, those days I stay duck down, off the block, I may be a razor sharp precise killing machine but I ain’t crazy enough to fuk with the new Orleans PD when they on that sweep.

Somebody should take trent reznor to like a chuck e. cheese or a farrells ice cream parlor or something. Somebody, anybody, needs to give that guy a frikken hug already. It’s like, ok trent, you’re a beacon for all these depressed ass, giddy to be counterculture automotans, and I know there’s a certain amount of pressure to stay bummed out, but doesn’t it get just a little old after a while. Don’t you EVER crack a smile while reading marmaduke on a Sunday morning? Doesn’t reruns of Webster wandering through his back alley sally maze in that old house with the ex football player and the dyke amazon just give you a little case of the willies and have you pondering what other things besides self-loathing and basking in the immoralities and inequities that are an integral and irrevocable part of this world and society may be out there?

Don’t you ever want to just go outside and walk down the street and catch a matinee showing of say dumb and dumberer and just, you know, enjoy something plebeian and ordinary and dumbed-down more mainstream society. We know you’re complicated, we know your thoughts are shuttered and private and that no words will properly convey the pain and sorrow that lie deep in your soul, but does that mean you simply will not, cannot, and are not even considering appreciating let’s say, an episode of saved by the bell. I mean, sure screech is annoying, but it is slightly funny when lisa rejects him for the 85th time.

Ok bad example. But seriously man, lighten up.

I don’t know why I got on that trip folks. Blame it on my new random CD selection. I’ll probably be outlining the vagarities and hidden meanings of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s Chief Boot Knocka later this afternoon. And you thought “put em on the glass” was just a song about tits? Oh ho ho, my friends, it’s a blatant metaphor for the secession of the Ukraine from the soviet union, written as a third person 10 year postscript. Indeed.