Friday, September 19, 2003

ya know I wasn’t gonna blog today.

Seems like hardly anyone’s around in the blogosphere, not that you can like tell, but I don’t know, the western front has this aura about it of inactivity.

It’s like the shutters are splacking the curtains are splacking the chandelier.

Up in here. Yeah hah heebie haboo. I never promised you a rose garden nor did I ever say I wouldn’t use the same sayings over and over again. I never uttered that expression or any that could be misconstrued to signify that no matter how deep you check the ‘chives, mmmkay? Try it. challenge me. C’mon I’m up for it. nunca.

So, yes indeed. This entry is going to the jerkero Mercado to be polished up and submitted to the kingpin of crime whereby likely I will get shot with his like magic cane. Um, actually I’m pretty sure it’s not magic, per se, but like a mechanical marvel, well more realistically it’s probably more of an electrical thing like with microwaves and etcetera than like nuts and bolts and turbines and pistons, like that.

I just had a total absence of thought.

Vegas. That sounds like a good place to be right now. Put me on a blackjack table with like a bunch of people that are relatively fucked up, but not completely sloshed so we don’t have any fooligans like hitting on a 15 with dealer showing a 6 or some shit like that, hell no, no thank you, even though sometimes, just these weird little times, mind you, that kind of scatological shit like kicks in a winning streak, but I would never authorize it, I mean, I’d accept it, gladly, but I would never issue orders on a strategy change ie the prophesied results.

Anyway. There’s a lot of room at the Mercado do los jerkeros for one more swimming cowboy, so I’m gonna go take my place among the crack alley of the stars, next to such law abiding citizens as Frank Middleford, CPA to Shirley Temple's hair instructor.