Tuesday, August 30, 2005

I was thinking about it today, and I should be way more famous than I am by now. I mean, I should be like blinging harder than goldie in the land of defunkdified zippy’s chili at this juncture, I mean, I should be blowin' up. But here I sit, ultimately unknown, lack of cognizance of my existence a major issue, moreso than the cash. The cash will come, I know that, dobs of it, and if it doesn’t, well fuck all, but the fame, it may never come, I could be a stranger to the masses as they toss the first, middle, and last shovelfulls of dirt on my nondescript metaphorical coffin.

The Pringles backup dancers dropped by today, fresh off a stint at the mtv beach house, they're sponsored by slim jim, free saran wrap for 3 and a half months, and all this glob's got is a fake add for lawn mowers hidden in the hypertext. somebody call up the estevez brothers for some pseudo garbage collection. In fact, Chuck, hit that button. Sit, Ubu, sit. Good dog.