I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Sunday, December 08, 2002
Revenge Is A Dish Best Served With Phlegm...
Whoever got me sick deserves to be kicked in the crotch. Well, I'm not really that sick, I've just felt like crap for the last couple days. I know it was one of you I-Don't-Cover-My-Mouth-When-I-Cough Cretins. You suck. Bastards. Makin' me all sniffly and poo-headed. Eat it. I'm already getting better though, so there.
I need another beer...
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