This is Ian. I hurt myself last nite. I've got the dried up blood to prove it. I must be getting old. Imagine how Jon must feel. That motherfucker's almost 30.
And why would you want to leave? One could likely come up with many fine reasons to do anything else with one's time. But why stay? One could hardly come up with a single decent excuse, but there are plenty of mediorcre ones. Here: This weblog is a tool of the future. It can be 1 place in space to share ruminations, illuminations, secret snapshots, drunken hand turkeys, digitized filmstrips, found fylth, music, senseless announcements, special denouncements, empty threats, fantastic fictions, links to better places on this internet, and worthy worldly horseshit, should it exist. Only invited parties can participate. That's the way it must be for a time. Most people just aren't ready for the future.
Every one of you scags that can access this damned webpage is a certified author, so post a thing.
Exciting tadbits coming soon:
--original watercolor collage of' 'The Gourds of Uruguay', --the newest `ukulele music video by Mister Travis Warren, --songs about Jesus by monkeys, --recipes for alligator wine, --a list of reasons not to wear pants proved terribly shortsighted, --photographic documentation of Slick Johnson in his natural habitat, --an outdated traffic report from downtown Singapore.
This is Ian. I hurt myself last nite. I've got the dried up blood to prove it. I must be getting old. Imagine how Jon must feel. That motherfucker's almost 30.
ReplyDeleteDried blood proves nothing. I don't care what the judge says.
ReplyDeleteBeen there.
ReplyDeleteNobody wants to know about your personal life...ewww....
ReplyDeletePS - YOU'RE almost 30.
"I'm a terrorist!"
ReplyDeleteFalled off my bike
ReplyDeleteGet a helmet, dipshit.
ReplyDelete