Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Hmmm. Seems to moi like this lil smidgen or at least my portion is getting way too much about me explaining blah blah blacksheep type scrappies instead of just delineating into whut the fuck I was gonna talk about in the first place anyway, which was prolly nothing anyway, so, uh, fuck it.

Eff you carlton. Serving notice. You too unk. This is the original franklin mint delegator. I can and will throw down biffs and henries whenever wherever necessary notwithstanding.

Suckas. Enjoy yer fake paradise aka jurk storr dogshit. See there I go, whether I’m my uncle or me or my great grandma I still just fukn belay on shit that does not fucking matter, I’m too deep in the, fuck, whatever the fuck it is, fantasy ass fark salad street sweepin ass crack of my ingrown psyche to crawl my way out, I mean, whut the fuck??

Whut is going on when you deliberately and purposefully tell yourself and, uh, the brigade, that you specifically will not elaborate on a given topic and or lack of topic and then you immediately just waver off into the exact exactitudinal forecast that you predicted you would not endeavor on? What is that called? Definitely not, fuck, whatevs, shit, I feel painted, corner, john candy on his boat eating fishsticks, all that shit.

Oh yah, postscript unrelated: Ennywayz, hey, there’s still 5 spots in this yahoo fantasy football dillio. Check it out, league name bloggerville, password snoopdogg. If you’re interested hit it up.

Maybe I’ll delete this later in a moment of paranoia of whut I know not, so if yer down, there’s no better peep than downtown Julie brown and no better time than now.

Oh yah postscript unrelated part deux, the return of steven segal’s ancient sideburns: I watched a DVD about the outlawz and wrote a song about, like to hear it? Here go.