paul, your shooting pierced my heart

and now, my cavs hurt a little, anthony. as far as ray allen goes, he might as well be woody allen, or ray charles. but seriously, lebron and pierce went toe to toe. good stuff. sadly, the men in green won the game. at least most wasn't around to yell about bird stealing the ball. some were around, but not most.

kevin is going to costner a fortune, sonny, but what will it costas? in the end, sam will attempt to build cassell's in the air, but we are better off with eddie house. rondo you know what i mean? i hear you, sonny redd, playing the mode, but first let's deal with the mean. i'll grant you that if you want to hear blue you are better off with redd.

there is a teacher at brookline high that still says "red china." he is also 6'11. this explains why i didn't say anything.

i was gonna go to denzel washington to protest the war, but the driver got lost in the forest whitaker, so we were stuck looking at birds. i listened to cat anderson and relaxed, but other passengers got testes and began to ball their fists. they duked it out. i began to count the swings. like a goodman, i didn't fight, but i did egg them on by saying cheese and singing smile. it was not a pretty picture. someone even committed digital rape. i began to analog the events in my journal. i told jamal i made abu boo by forgetting to skip lines. he began to peltier me with rocks. we had a row to the death, which ended when i sprained my ed pinckney. the battle joe kleined from there. i became despondent. i figured out what robert parish i was in, and i went to charlotte church to pray. this was mchaled as a turning point in my life. my dennis johnson began to grow when i met a pretty girl in the choir. i preached to her about the wonders of my bird. yes, i found the ainge, just as the chorus sang danny boy. irish i could relive those moments again and again. jewish it too, don't you? italian you, those were the days. i'd flip if i could live them again. but it seems the good times are over, and that is not dynamite. i feel maude, lynn. well, please keep all these feelings in the family. for you see, life is war, and we are all in the bunker now. by george jefferson, happy days will not be here again. i am not trying to be flip wilson, i am just speaking to all who will gleason. and now, the end is near. i wouldn't mind an end being near right about now. it would beat this computer, raven screen. take note of the liners i am throwing at you, sonny. this stitt is tight. i feel like a collosus, as the tenor madness envelops me, and i have thoughts of movin out, somewhere way out west, perhaps to a suite down by the riverside where i can experience freedom and keepnews to myself. let the others have the prestige. i will drink the weinstock. i theile you no lie. the truth is, i have the impulse to record these thoughts for posterity. to be frank, i want to live from here to eternity. let others jump over clifts, or march for justice in montgomery. even if stars fall on alabama, and fill the land, causing my leg to be put in a cast, or, those marchers end up in alcatraz, i will still be free as a bird, man. life is what i want, the eternal springer, for i am just an ordinary joe undergoing a paterno-ty test because i am too povich to raise children, or as my mom's friend with the laughing face says, choldrin. yes, my penn will state my case, of witch i'm certain. i am in the joe hunt for something special, for this is no run of the miller time we are living in. albee sure to remember that life is an art, as the music of edward kennedy ellington serenades the sophisticated ladies who haunt my solitude. for you see, i have it bad and that ain't good. i am in a sentimental mood, perhaps one could even call it a mood indigo.

well, i got to get the one o'clock jump on the kids, as i count the time before they arrive.

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