Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Yo & yo. To you & uh, you. Fuck. What the fuck ever. Checking in. why? Why the fuck not. Why do I type stuff to myself and the jurk storr resident ape trainer when all I know & all you know is that which we read and hear and imbibe on the daily & weekly? And if you think that makes any fukn sense whatsoever even in the eyes of the author I’ve gotta bridge in muthafuckin Madison county for ya for only 5 bills. Dollahs, huns, g-notes, don’t mattah cuz that shit don’t exist not no way.

Yah, yah, deep. Mmm hmmm, atlantis style. Wasn’t the trend supposed to be pump up the shit & not bury the bone on a “beach of nonchalance” and don’t think the quotemarks mean I lifted that, I’m quoting from another shit I wrote. “wafting on a beach of nonchalance,” I said. Now what the fuck was I talking about? Oh yah, political issue(s) of which I made up to carry a story about some frustrated guy sitting by the Potomac staring at the Washington monument & thinking about what a goddamm fucking waste of time it all was.

Then he went & got drunk, fyi.

The Grand Comic Book Database

The Shame Game

Walking on Scorpions