hello all. i was docked, but the money was taken out of my sick time, so my check will be the same. i'll never be the same there is such an ache in my heart. i am blogging from my local library, a first in the herstory of the blog. silberg has attended this library and he usually criticizes the librarian for not charging him money for the books. "how do they expect to stay in business?" he once asked perturbed passerby. the last i saw of him, he was babbling of fascist conspiracies, slumlords, imperialism, and the fact that we haven't gotten a good look at j lo's ass in years. i would assist in taking that photo. i went to the doctor last week and he told me i had assist. i told him he scored two points. i kidd you not. the doctor was also wearing a new jersey, and had just completed his sex change operation. he is now a man named jason kidd. kenyon believe it? why are doctors so expensive? with the sermon on the amount that they charge, there should at least be some free sex operations thrown in, or a z magazine in the waiting room. in these times that would be progressive and would make dollars and sense for doctors all accross this nation. mother jones of god, i hope they do it. we have got to shake things up and start cooke-ing, for we may have a chubby checkered history, but there is still time. time is on my hands. actually, those are fingers. it's finger poppin time went an old ballard that makes me reach for my hankie every time i hear it.
i babble on, and the children in iraq continue to be killed. kill bill, not iraqi children. i'd tell you his last name, but silberg told me to be aware of spies. my spies have seen the glory of the cuming of the lord,and i'm still cleaning the carpet. perhaps charlotte church can sing about it, and if she does, come hell or high waters, i'll sneak in and stamp my feet for her. she will always have a leg up on the competition in my booker ervin. i'll turn the patti page on this soon we'll be without the warren moon, humming a different tune, and then...and then what? more global warming, more mindless labor, more adam sandler, who is a no good beach and i will dish the dirt on him and make his eyes water when and if i sea him. the river of my imagination will never run dry. it is better to dry on your feet than to lrive on your knees. i kneed you. yes, you. all of you. i love all of you. i long for connection, but when i look up, all i see is a raven screen, and i rave on. maybe it is time to grow up and have a sonny named chriss, but pengco (or is it pinko?) convinced me he would be too carl jung.
it's over, it's over, it's over, i can't look back i won't look back sayeth the chairman. and now i'm bored and blue, so keep your eyes open for my next outburst. till then, stay out of the bush, and don't eat kerry.
i babble on, and the children in iraq continue to be killed. kill bill, not iraqi children. i'd tell you his last name, but silberg told me to be aware of spies. my spies have seen the glory of the cuming of the lord,and i'm still cleaning the carpet. perhaps charlotte church can sing about it, and if she does, come hell or high waters, i'll sneak in and stamp my feet for her. she will always have a leg up on the competition in my booker ervin. i'll turn the patti page on this soon we'll be without the warren moon, humming a different tune, and then...and then what? more global warming, more mindless labor, more adam sandler, who is a no good beach and i will dish the dirt on him and make his eyes water when and if i sea him. the river of my imagination will never run dry. it is better to dry on your feet than to lrive on your knees. i kneed you. yes, you. all of you. i love all of you. i long for connection, but when i look up, all i see is a raven screen, and i rave on. maybe it is time to grow up and have a sonny named chriss, but pengco (or is it pinko?) convinced me he would be too carl jung.
it's over, it's over, it's over, i can't look back i won't look back sayeth the chairman. and now i'm bored and blue, so keep your eyes open for my next outburst. till then, stay out of the bush, and don't eat kerry.
1 comment:
Is that Dick Clark?
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