Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Sometimes there is a sexual summer. It only comes once ever fifteen years to the local flea market. Here you will meet extraordinary people from all over. Locals to drifters to leather feet all condensed into one area. Packed to perfection, with no air to circulate. A breeders paradise of a lost emphasis on catering.
Lets bring the sexual summer back.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I've learned there is a lot more to wrestling than what one may think. It's more emotional than I could have ever imagined. It makes me want to understand it more. At least understand the underground wrestling scene.
Watch it. There is a camping site somewhere around the outskirts of town. Don't tell the secured jumper cables.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
I wonder if there is a new pair of journalism out today. A new concentration of air? That would be quite nice I suppose. Actually, as a matter of fact it would not. I don't appreciate canned meats while they hold their substinance still. It needs to lose weight for the grills.
It's mouth unpleasant with a touch of a tongue from its nosy neighbors. Now covered in antlers, bruised and battered from the wheat pasteings. They are planted all over the city of malnourished children.
Now go out and discover something that is suitable for your unnatural taste testing. Quailing beetle.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Two times in one day, someone has gone through my stuff. TWO TIMES! Why is it OK for someone to go through my stuff? I never go through anyones stuff, and if I happen to stumble upon something that befuddles me, I don't give a shit.
I don't care what you do with yourself. Just don't tell me what I can and can't do. If I enjoy something I'll do it until it no longer entertains me. Simple.