Wednesday, July 02, 2003

I don’t know whut the fuk’s going on but my monitor is seeming like all radioactive or some shit today. It’s like just looking at it with that glowing white background on MS word is just givin me a fukn headache. I’ve tried fukn with the settings till doomsday and it still bugs. Jackin the brightness the contrast the vertical position the muthafuckin horizontal position up in this bitch the whole 9 and still looking at this damn computer screen is just buggin.

Well we got innernet hooked up at the casa last nite, so expect some possible midnight philosophical posts on Grecian urns an’ shit like that in the not so near or possibly immediate future. Maybe it’s the differential in the parameters of our home monitor and this work monitor that are fukn with my mental right now. And dammit I couldn’t get the giganticness of the web to chillski on the home whatsistat last night, it was pissing me off. I gotta reset the fukn 800x600 or whatever the fuk it is but for some reason at home it won’t let me and here I can fuk around with it all day.

Yes I know the fascination that I am instilling in you at this moment is about 1 astro-medallion short of a bushel. Shit you could take said bushel and go down to the farmers market and trade that shit in for a pound of bullion if you had the guts, ho. But you won’t. you’ll sit, read, possibly spit at the screen in disgust, and move on with your day, never even understanding the hint of the possibilities within easy reach of your stubby little fingertips. Dork.

Fukn big al is being an oversensitive lil ho today. Ok he tells me to handle something one way. I KNOW he probably has it all fucked up, and plus if I process the shit to the mainland yesterday it ain’t gonna get done til today anyway, so I decide to double check with the boss, who’s ramrodding this particular dillio anyway. Sure enuff it’s all fukked up. So I fix it. now fukn big al is gonna fukn cry because I went around his back or some shit? oh and there he goes leaving and not even saying good bye. Well fuk you too big al. fuk you up your lily white ass you old racist crusty sack of donkey shit. fuk if everybody you offended with your bullshit remarks and your boring ass stories even let it get to them half of what your little self-perceived drama of whatever the fuk issue your having well then we would have ragnarok or at the very least a large pile of ragu. And not the big Carmine kind.

What the fuk evs. Drama was made to be golden and golden was made to be grahams. Ain’t nobody leaving comments for shit up in this bitch. That’s cool, fuk a comment. Next muthafucka to leave a comment gets fukn shot by my 12 guage. That’s right, I don’t want no stinking comments, whilst I type away in oblivion. Shit, it’s fukn facetiousness, can’t ya dig? Ok, true left a comment. Thanks true. Thanks from the bottom of my heart, cuz shit, sometimes feedback keeps a brutha in the game. Even if it wasn’t really true, if it was like an impostor, it's still cool, which shit you never know in this day and age, fukn ask treacher, fukn people pretend they’re him and shit all over the fukn innernet, and ladatt, and he don’t comment anywhere anyhow no more, the fukn hateraide got to be too much for the guy, ya dig, fukn jim jones couldn’ta brewed up a heartier batch, which just goes to show you, um where the fuk was I? Yeah so party on jim, and whatever real life shit is keeping you out of the blog game for like 5 minnits, I hope it’s getting regulated to the fullest and in the most proper way and to your satisfaction with minimal drama and/or heartache and/or muschle ache, and that all is well and good, and seriously, though, that’s on long beach, and, well, nuff said.

but anyway, ya know, sometimes knowin that someone’s reading this DogShiT helps me get through the goddamm day. ok? Ok you got me. Ok I care. Shit. I’m not fukn Sylvia plath. I ain’t muthafukin William burroughs up in this crazzle. I want to be recognized. I ain’t fukn vince van gogh, ready to toil and toil and nobody say shit. okay I am. Okay I’m not. Fuk if I had one quarter of one quarter of the talent of any of the preceding names I pulled out of my sphincter this web page would be number one with a bullet. But no, I’m a joker and instead it’s number 8 billion three hundred and sixty five.

And no I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I could really give a fuk. It’s all good, I’m just rambling. Bye big al, don’t forget to write, you old scraggly fuk. Fukn lil beyatch. Wah wah wah. So much money and so much time and so much everything and 90% of what the fuk comes out the old fuk’s mouth is bitching and moaning.

Someone please tell me I’m not on that runway. If I turn out to be this old whining complaining bitching fart someone please put a cap in my muthafukin ass before I can even finish the next sentence out my dumbass muthafukin mou