?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Every Sunday is spent worshiping false prophets and loose change.
The choirs moans.
Come over and fuck me upside tomorrow,
from the inside, if you please.
I could mentally fuck you.
Say it like you mean it.
Glamorama, and shut the fuck up, already!
Want to play a game?
The meaning to the meaning
of life
is
books and beer, books, more beer,
and a few more books.
I have a confession to make.
I am a bibliophile
getting 150 sexual imagines in mind at once.
We changed my answer at the last moment.

Of course, it makes sense that I find work in a bookstore, at a 'for-profit, corporate commercials play all day and late night scam,' every few months or so, just long enough for me to find the books to bring home and cloister. The song Final Straw by REM echoes through my head. Did I mention that I have an affinity for the Wynkoop Ales? Another half-rack of the Broadway Brewery and Ralph Steadman Samplers float into the garage and then, down into my gullet. Accidents happen. I miss the daze of shooting pool on the second floor of the Wynkoop Brewery with the best professor on the planet, a Railyard Ale or two behind on the times. I miss my boy Bradford! The leprachaun bastard! He holds the key to the Ivory Treehouse!
Will I ever be subversive or dramatic enough? Maybe if I change my name to Elvis. Better yet, Envy. What in the Hell are you going to do, when you have no one to turn to, no one to pick up the glass shards, and patch up the bloody scratches? Where will you hide, when you are alone?
If I were a god, I would orgasm, more often.
Raw Toilet Bowling for Dollars, here comes Tommy Tsunami, and he is not afraid to shout.
Why are you looking at me, like that?
Get on your knees and pray against my crotch, quickly.
We will write it up as a divine intervention.
Faster.
My favorite television show is called 'Reality.'
Daily body counts are not making this experience any easier.
"Oh, Johnny, won't you come on home? We are worried." - The Fine Young Cannibals
"Hold my hand, and make me understand," she says.
The following movie is rated 'Reality Impaired.'
Spooning the Past, she wiggles her ass back against him.
"When Johnny comes marching home, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, when Johnny comes marching home, hurrah, hurrah..."
Streetcorner signholders, the Iraqi Vet, amputee, but s/he did not die, thanks to that Kevlar(tm) vest that his/her mother bought off of Ebay(tm) from a rat-faced Radar O'Reilly, and this is not MASH, anymore. I drown myself in expensive microbrewed beer, and Apple-coated blueberries.
Good Morning, Vietnam!
Good Morning, Afghanistan!
Good Morning, Iraq!
Good Morning, War!
Thank you for making an enemy out of my neighbor!

I would have baked a Bundt cake, walked it over on my own, but you never asked, and I never demanded....to know where you were going at three in the morning, a bottle of champagne in your hand. You always smelled the best when you were walking away. I know that you will recognize that line as being about you.
but then her 3rd World was an ocean named after NeverNever Land....as if...

Once upon a time meant happily ever after.
I need to get some nightshifters to blow that game down...
Excuse me, but why does Moldie get to play along here?
Ocean has been leaving before we get here
Funny yes, she is leaving now, for tomorrow.



Thank you,