Wednesday, June 22, 2005



And The Meek Shall Inherit Meek Genes...

Like Ender Wiggin, I am too tired to play like I used to, but will still win, even though I groan loudly whenever I move.

That was one of the worst sentences that I've ever typed, I think.

And because this is already so bad, it makes me want to stop. But I don't think that I will for now. I am waking up, even though it's past midnight, even though the gosssamer goading of things that I should be doing cling to my head and make me flail around my hands like some kind of epileptic/tourettic voodoo doctor.

If I could cast spells on people, I would first, uncast the many spells that have been cast upon me. I would first start with the physical ones and then move on down the list. It would be an honor for me to roll bones made of your fingertips. To spit on them and then to mingle them with the fresh blood of a sacrificed chicken.

Because I'm cheap and lazy - I'd probably just throw some KFC in the dirt and then spit on that. That made absoultely no sense. I think.

My father met Col. Sanders once. Emperor Hirohito of Japan. George Lucas. Eartha Kitt. And a descendant of Adolph Coors.

The first two are true. The rest are lies.

Typing tonight is my Battle School. Like Ender Wiggin, I am too tired to play like I used to, but will still win, even though I groan loudly whenever I move. Use this piece of writing as proof.




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