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, March 02, 2003
I like Boz. Boz likes Me. Post Exchange.
"Wtf, all the comments from January 29th have disappeared.
Don't worry boz, they'll be back.
You really think so?
Trust me.
Your name isn't Pop is it?
Why?
Because my pop told me to never trust anyone named Pop.
No, this is the voice of your conscience.
You mean ...
Yep, Frank Sinatra.
Could you sing a couple bars of Moon River?
That was Andy Williams you putz.
Sorry, I've gotten the two of you mixed up since the time I fell off the truck.
Welp, Dino and Sammy are calling, I'm outta here.
Hey, is it true what they say about Juliet Prowse and Jill St. John?
--POOF--"
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Hi! Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?