Rose Camellia
It seems as though I've taken my life as far as I can go. With interstellar threats such as the Alpha Draconans and Ra coming back into a sort of metaphysical reality, I can no longer see a reason to exist. Maybe it's the porn, or the idea of porn, or even God himself. I'm not sure but I like living right now.
As far as I'm concerned, Dazzler can go fuck himself.
"The bumble bees are polinating early this year." She said as Gordon looked around.
"It seems awful early for that type of behavior..."
"Not in the least," reasured Veronica, as she pulled something out of her bra, "now here, let's get to work."
She handed to him a smallish pen with the initals D.R. etched in to the side. He took a deep breath and jambed the pen, tip first into the soft clay like sand, using the tip of his pinky to ensure it was below the surface. A couple quick kicks of the toe of his now worn wingtips, had made the pen dissapear entirely. Slowly this field was filling with secrets. Secrets he didn't want to talk about.
"Come now, lets go get some malts."
His head hung in a simple resignation. His life was no longer his own. With the benefit of hindsight, he could see his free will slowly being snuffed out. Replaced with a sort of meloncholic deliberacy, toward Veronica. She was his owner now, she held all the keys, owned all the chips, and controled the deck.
In a way, it was beautiful, as was she. He watched her sundress sway with her hips as he loped behind her. thinking about her long neck, and how much better she used to look with short hair.
"Come now, hurry up!" She scolded as his thoughts had drifted, leaving him fairly far behind. He began to scamper throught the tall grass, not unlike a monkey, until his foot hit something. An arch of pain drifting through his foot and up his leg led him to howl out, in equal parts suprise, pain, and fear.
She was on him in an instant, "Do you see what happens?" "Do you see?", all the while she was beating him about the face and head with the palm of her hand. Looking down, the angrieness of her face seemed to vanish leaving only in it's wake fear. His foot had been snared in a small bear trap. This was quickly becoming the governments favorite way of catching people in the frobidden zones. She could see the fear in his face. But she had to leave him here to fend for himself. No point in both of them getting caught. She turned, and without a word, began to run, leaving him howling in agony.
The sky darkened, several hours later, as a capitol ship silently slid between the earth and the sun, directly over his head. He was exhausted from strugling, and a little dizzy from the blood loss, and had thus, given up as the transport ship undocked from it's majestic mother. He could see the little puff of smoke, and fire accomponying it's departure, and although the Capitol ship seemed to fill most of the sky with its bulk, it would still take fifteen to twenty minutes for its child to reach the ground.
He took out a fag from his coat pocket, and started digging around for a lighter. Finaly finding it in a clump of grass a few inches away. Lighting up, he began to think about the events that led him to this place. He thought about Veronica... He didn't blame her for running, just maybe wished, however, that she would have put the gun to his head before she left. Of course that would leave more evidence to help to track her down, but it would have been much better for him.
He tossed the but of the cig away just as the ship was setting down. It was still an impressive sight to see. About twenty feet tall, and maybe seventy feet across. It's exterior needing some maitenece as the years had worn hard on it, leaving dimples, dents, and even a few creases across it's listless grey surface.
The hatch opened, and two men, derssed as banannas came crawling out of the ship. They stood over him, staring, but saying nothing. It was the taller bananna who acted first. Taking a handful of earth and smearing it across his belly. The other sumarily took a picture of the first bananna as he kneeled next to the now prostrated Gordon. They seemed pleased with them selves, and punched Gordon in the face, rendering him unconcious.
I've been trying to update the site. No, seriously, I have. But every time I write something, it makes me feel like punching my self in the goddamn throat. I sound like such a prick anymore, I can't even stand it. So now here is, in no particular order, the things I hate most:
Powerfull targets require a knowledge of understanding. Not only the targets named, but of ones own intringent abilities. Equiping ones self with the various mental slings and arrows needed for the day, or for that matter, ones own life, you can efectivly prepare yourself for a myriad of purported complications.
Wait, what did I just say?
Fuck!
Fucking God damn it!
Fuck!
Why do I always sound like such a pompus ass?
Hello?
Hello, I'd like two tickets for the trolley.
Fuck!
Again!
Ok, wait, here...
Sorry for the interuption...
God fucking fuck fuck!
Apothecary...
Unknown...
Who has any...
Fuck fuckety fuck fucking fuck fucker!
Round...
Life is irrelevant. Time is an illusion. It's no closer to 3586 B.C. than it is to 3902 A.D. and the only reason to live is to discover what you've already done. When you die, they say your life flashes before your eyes. A very dream like state... Every one is dead. 895.589 trillion lives, just dreaming of the past. Remembering each other. Collective unconscious is only a small, interwoven part of the collective dream. Change in part, or in whole, is pointless. Can't change the past. Mankind is dead. Earth is dead. Just enjoy your ride.
I drive a car. I pay my taxes. I contribute to the economy, and don't go through people's trash.
So, why is it, I can't seem to get away with just being morbedly obese? Every time I eat any thing, it could be as small as a cracker or as big as a traditional 5 course italian meal, people seem to feel the need to point out my problem. I know I have a problem! I don't see what snide remarks like "Hey pudgey boy.", or "Do you want a waffle with that?", or "Who invented the retractable awning?" can achieve. Leave my fat ass alone, or I swear I'll eat your children and/or whoever/whatever is closest to you emotionally. I don't care what you have to say for yourself, if you fuck with a human planet, expect to have part of your life digested by it.
With the addition of Collasun Pacwedge to an ever growing library of music, I increasingly find myself to be falling behind with respect to updates. Panaphobia is the best band to ever be anything, and I speak from experience. God damn all who shall fall in our wake. This is more than a measly revolution of the mind. We are an evolutionary jump in the existence of mankind. Destined to be hunted and killed for the absolute minimum of trespass. For we have ascended, through our minds, to a state impossible to imagine for the commoner. I can feel the thoughts in your head right now, as of this typing. I know you better than anyone, and let me be the first to congradulate you. Selfish life expands, as a product of the aformentioned evolution. You are a shinning example of that selfinshness. Panaphobia know your weakness, and shall do nothing except watch you expire with little more reaction than a quiet smirk. The knowledge of your inferiority, is easily enough to please supperior beings, such as us. Hang your head in shame...
My life lately seems to be little more than an elaborate dream. Not that the unexpected, or indescribable happens. It's more a feeling of oneness, or sameness. I live with no highs, or lows. And for an unmedicated man like myself, that seems a little odd. I seem to float like a ghost from place to place. Nothing can hold me back. I don't remember where I came from, or more importantly, where I'm going. Like the rain water in a ditch, I increasingly find myself in an influx of ambiguity. Like a flattened wheel, nothing matters to me. Not life. Not death. Not Suffering. Without these bounds I seem unbrideled in my quest for normalcy, which, just so happens, leads me to the center of myself. Of the world. I cannot condone the actions of my body, where in, many an event regails it's self toward the ultimate distraction. But I can see, however, the inevitable decline within, that so many serve a lifetime trying to forget. Not the innevitable slope that leads us to death, but the realization of death. I feel my life should serve as a milestone in evolution, but then, whoose life shouldn't? Death is but one door, one we all pass. How will you pass?
Here's a little thing you want to see!
Visitor #661 just visited the web site! I know it's more pertinent to celebrate visitor #666, or #1000, but I seriously doubt I'll be around to see that one.
You see, I'm planning on going on a holy pilgramige, of sorts. That is to say, I'm leaving to begin my ninja training in...
...well, an undisclosed location to be sure. Just please, celebrate for me!
This just in....
As of Monday, May 15th, 2006, a new contest will begin...
I have randomly chosen ten (yes ten!) IP addresses at random and have blocked them from one or more areas of the website! If you find yourself not being able to gain access to one or more areas of the site, Click Here for a chance to be entered into the drawing for $15!!!!*
Granted, I never sat in the sun until that day, but I'm sure the reasoning of the parish had been correct. Spit flies had landed all over my naked quivering body. My penis, still limp from the horsefly bites, now began to take on a burning, itching, slightly red quality. Presumably, from the horseflies! I'm not to sure, but I think I felt something squirming around the small of my back. Unable to move I could only postulate as to the identity of my newfound friend. Centipede, ladybug, some poor lost puppy, or just a carelessly discarded stick of butter melting from the weight and heat of my naked back were all viable answers. But, as I was unable to move, due to the fear of upsetting Blarthu, god of nude suntanning, the identity of my new friend would have to wait unlil he/she/it was either dead or melted.
I just got me some DSL. Wahey. Now I'll never leave my chair, not even to clean up. This is the best thing ever. It's even better than the time I got really drunk and had a threesome with your dad and that girl from accounting. Well, maybe not that good...
Your dad gives amazing head!
The younger you are the more invincible you think you are. It's the truth, even though few people would be willing to admit it. It's not hard to break a bone, tear a ligament, get an STD, or just fuck up everything in general. So why are so many people convinced that God is protecting them? It would be easy for me to say that it's because they're stupid... so I won't. Even if they are. It's really because they have been conditioned to believe, through their shitty childhood, that God cares. "It takes a leap of faith." people tell them, but really it only takes a mind looking for easy answers. God doesn't care, and why should he? In the beginning, (if indeed that's how it's spelled) I could understand that fact. But, the truth, God has become bored with us and, no longer cares if we live or die, love or hate, fuck or abstain. He, or She, or maybe more appropriate IT, has more important things going on. Like the gout. Or lotto winnings. That's not the point. The point is that God has given up on Earth, and her inhabitents. Except me. That's not a selfish statement, that's the truth. God completely, and utterly hates me. I can already hear the questions: "If he hates you, why are you alive?"...
I'll tell you, it's worse to live than be absolved.
"How do I know he hates me?"
Easy, I hate him to. AND, he's never helped me to believe in him. So... We reach a conundrum. If he exists, he hates me. If he doesn't, well then this is a moot point. I like the latter better. So quit telling me about that jerk, and leave me alone in my misery. It's better than the alternative.
As far as I'm concerned, the fifth regiment can fuck it's self.
The Date: November 6th
The Time: 12:21 A.M.
My State Of Mind: Drunk
The Reason For The Update:
I swear on the tits of my dead Granny, I will, nay, WILL update this site soon with lots of new music. Even, probably, a whole new page, as a differention between the new songs and the old. Why would I do this? Why not! Shit... this is my own personal Blog, even though I hate the idea of that. Mostly because people post stupid shit for their fucking friends and acquaintances, and I want to do something else. I want to entertain myself through the medium of stupid people. This site isn't for you, cocksucker. It's purely for me. Now get the fuck off my lawn!
Frank Sinatra was once quoted as saying, "When lip service to some mysterious deity permits bestiality on Wednesday and absolution on Sunday, cash me out." Now, what does that have to do with anything? I seem to be asking myself that a lot lately, not just in the context here-in, but in my general day to day workings as well. Case in point, the other day I was doing blow off a dead girl's tits, the cops bust in and tell me I'm under arrest, and I'm like "What does that have to do with any thing?" They didn't seem to have as well a grasp of the situation as I did. But any-who, that wasn't the point. I guess what I'm getting at here is that fact that everyone, everyone, has some thing they've said that they're known for. Frank Sinatra said that thing up above. John F. Kennedy said: "Ask not what your country can do for you..." Mother Teresa said: "Whoa! You scared me half to death, you creepy little fuck!" And now I've said: "What does that have to do with anything?" I'm not to sure if I want that to be my one-time, all-inclusive, catch-phrase, because I think it lacks the weight necessary so be a solid player in with the rest of history. I mean it definitely lacks the stuff of: "I was really too honest a man to be a politician and live." I'll let you figure out where that one comes from. Maybe I need a better one, something like: "Quick, draw the blinds, I'm fucking your mom!" or "Have a heart, It's rich in Iron!" or "She raped me first!" or "discern me the initial dehiscent groggery." Perhaps I'm trying to hard. Fuck it. I'm gonna go sniff some glue.
It's 3:47 A.M., I can't sleep, and I'm updating the website. What to talk about? Right when I started typing I inhaled a little spit and coughed and shit. Not shit as in "poo", but shit as in "other stuff". So if you were te reread the sentence with "other stuff" in place of shit, you'll get my drift. Not that I don't shit. Every one shits. I just didn't do it when I coughed, after inhaling some spit. Is that the propper way to spell "inhaling"? It doesnt look right. But neither does "inhaleing" or "prostate". I know that's how to spell prostate, I was just making a point. That point being that some words don't look real even when they are. Words like "taxes" and "stalker" and "get off my porch you creepy little fuck". Now I don't consider myself to be to "little", so you can understand what that barb did to my self confidence. And maybe it was her porch. Who is she to yell at me about it? It's not like I was going to rape her. I just wanted some of the seed in the little disc on the corner. I've seen others eating that stuff. Just because they're "cute" she thinks that gives them a special right over me? I'll never understand this type of logic. Even if it is my own. I just can't fucking figure it out. Well, it's almost 6:45 and I've got to get to work in three days. This is where I leave you.
Well... I'm drunk again. It seems that most of my life is dominated by this feeling. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. But maybe it is. Who am I to say. I think I spend about %90 of my week either drunk or at work. And that includes sleep. The main problem with spending this much time in "altered states"? Uh, I'm not so sure. Except for the fact that being drunk is no longer a way to relax, and more of a reminder that I really have no future. Must be part of alchoholism. Then again, what isn't. Stealing from your friends, neighbors, and that old crippled guy down the road all seem to just be part of the "drunken spirit". I don't think I know one single person who hasn't gotten drunk occasionally and ripped off some old person for a rather large sum of money. Or medication. What's important to remember, is that no matter how drunk you get, you can always get drunker. Unless you die from alchohol poisoning. But let's hope that trend continues only on campus and not in my house. Unless it's a hooker that dies, in which case, does anyone care? Oh, wait, that's a little harsh. Not that I hope hookers don't die, but, uh... Now I forgot my point. I guess it's not that important, just make sure you tip the bottle a little further back for me.
I just found and popped a huge zit on my back. Now although this isn't really that important, or important at all, I just wanted to tell you. Why? I'm just really lonley. What with my divorce finalized, and my life now in tatters, I feel there's no one else out there to turn to, other than you nameless faceless masses. I'm not trying to bring you down, or whatever you kids call it these days. I just want a friend. And that's hard to find here. Most people end up dying within a few months, so you just start to enjoy their company, and boom. You know, dead. Dead is what I meant when I said boom. The people who don't die are usually so god-damn innane that I just want to shoot myself. Oh - how I long for the days I could do something about that shit. A good example: the other day Mildred Emmnabrooking decided to start telling me about her great, great, great, great grand daughter, or some shit. I would've smashed my head against the wall, hoping for a minor stroke and deafness, so I wouldn't have to listen to her shit any more. But one of the fucking orderlies locked my wheels, and now I'm stuck in the middle of the hall. It's probably for the best, though. Because you don't want to end up in a coma. There's two sides to that coin. Heads is that you get to sleep all day, every day for the length of the thing, the tails... I've heard other "residents" (inmates) telling me that it's possible to hear and even remember everything that's sait to you. There's just an unspoken rule not to let anyone know, because if your kids knew how fun it was, they'd just let the medical bills pile up, throw down a middle finger, and tell you to "Fucking pay for it yourself". Anyway, if you hear and remember everything, you'll remember that fucking bitch down the hall from you talking about darning her socks during the great depression. And you'll also remember the sounds that gay orderly made as he fucked you in the ass. Maybe you wouldn't feel it, but you'd know what was going on just from the sounds. I know it sounds like a bad life, and it is. Why not try to kill myself? Two words - My Kids. Not that I love them, but they're paying for this whole god-damned misserable experience, and that's fucking great. I can't tell you how much money I lost raising those little shits. But I'm glad their getting a small taste of what I had to deal with as their father. You remember that time you broke the sliding glass door? It cost $1,000? No? Maybe this will jog your memory, I want my corpse burnt in $1,000 worth of bourbon after I die. Or maybe the time I bought you a new bike, (I really only bought it so you could take yourself places, and would quit whining to me about whatever dumb shit you wanted.) and you thought it would be fun to dismantle it and turn it into a real car. Do you remember that? You ruined you bike. And wasted my money. Just for that I think I'll take you out of my will, but you won't find out you get nothing until after the funeral. Won't that just burn your ass. You're going to spend $20,000 on my funeral and not see one cent of inheritance. You will see a nice long list of how you ruined my life, though. HA, you may be laughing at me now, but I'm going to get the last laugh, asshole.
As far as I'm concerned, Lisa Marie can fuck Herself.
Well it appears to be that time again. We all feel like shit this time of year because the "holiday" is crammed so full of yule tide, and horse shit we seem to have a problem coping with our feelings of resentment toward Jesus. Who the fuck is he to intrude his bullshit, lame ass ideals on me just as I'm about to get a free hummer from that whore that lives across the hall from me. Every one gets a free one around Christmas. But before she lets you come you have to praise Jesus, and thank him for saving your soul. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? Christ, I just wanna shoot my nut, and I definately dont want to be thinking about Jesus when I do it. So I did the only thing that really could be done. I broke her nose and asked her where her God was now. She made some wise-ass comment and bit off part of my testicle. Now mind you this all happened a few years ago, and usually I'm not the type to hold a grudge. But, seriously, I only have one ball left because of that bitch. I can't even flash complete strangers without odd looks and giggles being thrown in my direction. So what's the point to all this? I guess I'm just miffed about all the shit that went down over some dude that's been dead for two thousand years. And it's not really even his birthday we're celebrating. It's his fucking death. Shouldn't we show a little more humility and remember Jesus, instead of spending all our money on some stupid-ass Elmo, or fucking Johney-Love-Bucket -Comander, or what ever the fuck it is all the kids are into? Or better yet let's just forget about that piece of shit and focus on our families, instead of giving money to the church so they can keep raping our children for another year, and spend some money on our medical system, or our fucking school system for God's sake. Religion is a waste of time. Period. Fuck Christmas, and fuck you for believing in God. I'm gonna go get me a blow job. But not from the bitch across the hall, she's dead. No, not from me, she got hit by a bus in Ann-arbour, or how ever the fuck you spell that shitty town's name. I'm talking about from some expensive whore I met in LoDo. When you don't give to church you can buy yourself something nice once in a while.
Websters defines painful as "feeling or giving pain", after further extrapolation we find that Websters defines pain as a "usually localized physical suffering associated with bodily disorder". I define painful as "setting ones hand on fire". Now, although "How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days" is neither here nor there, it's still painful enough. Terrible writing seems to be in order from the first spoken lines of the movie, and prevail through the end. Of course one could say after seeing one romantic comedy, you've seen them all. Maybe that's not true, but in this case you've probably seen it before. Overly cliched, and underwritten. I don't know what else to say, I winced, I gagged, I begged it to end. No one has a conscience any more. Especially when it comes the drivel spewing forth from some execs head about, let's do this, let's do that, let's give Johnson a big raise. Raise this you exceedingly drab old fucker. It's not like you own the goddamn place. Shit, my sales figures were at least twice that of his lily white ass. All I can say is I hope he sucked your cock really good, because you have a lawsuit on your hands. That's right, a fifteen million dollar blow job. And because I know you lack the intelligence to figure out how much exactly that is, look at this number and try not to pass out: *$15,000,000* That's exactly how much I'm taking from you, you shriveled up old fucker. Go fetch me a beer, and then I'll brand you my personal little slave. Ass. Fucker. You now owe me your life, so why don't you do us all a favor and start cutting your toes off, because once I come in there I'm going to make you eat them. Damn it! Sorry, I'm sorry. I... I'm just lonely... please pay attention to me. I... I've got nothing. I've got this vase....
People get all bent out of shape about stalkers. It seems to me that stalkers are a gift from God, or Buhda, or whoever the fuck you believe in. They are even more so a gift than those 20 virgins, or however many it was, that the talliban promised me. Why would I say this? It's pretty plain if you think about it for a second. Usually stalkers make their presence known before they start killing which gives you a head start. Let's consider this conversation for a second, we'll pretend we got here in the middle of it:
Me: How do you know where I live?
Stalker: I know everything about you...
Me: Everything?
Stalker: Yes, I even know when the last time you took a shit was.
Me: What are you, stalking me?
Stalker: Kind of, don't be mad...
Me: (interrupting) You want to fulfill a fantasy?
Right there, that's the hook. Any stalker worth her whit wouldn't turn down a fuck. Now I hear a lot of you saying "Yea, but that'll make it worse!". I say to you: "Look at the big picture pussies!" After you fuck the shit out of her, she'll do anything you say, so long as you don't leave her. It's perfect. I'll give you some examples:
Let's say you come home from the bar late one night to find her asleep in your bed. Don't say "How did you get in here?", instead flip her right over and start fucking her in the ass. If there's no lube handy, then feel free to piss all over her ass and back. Now, although this won't help with lubrication, it will help you feel better about a dry fuck. Then you can donkey punch her, what's she gonna do? Leave? (for those who don't know, a donkey punch is a punch delivered from the "doggie style" position to the back of the bitches head just before you cum. This will cause her pussy (or ass) to contract giving you a much more intense orgasm!) Shit. She leaves? You no longer have a stalker, and hence forth no longer have to worry about being killed. If she stayes, you can try all sorts of bizzare shit with her. The trick is to just keep pushing the limit untill you find it. And remember, it's not about her pleasure, it's about yours.
"But what if she's ugly as sin and dirty as that whore down the street?"
Easy, Just let her hang around and clean shit for you. Make it clear you don't like being touched by beating the shit out of her once in a while. The cunt can get you beer, make you dinner, do your laundry, kill your neighbor while you're busy fucking his wife. That one's probobly the easiest, whenever you go next door to fuck the shit out of that jackass' wife, tell your stalker your going to go hang out with your best friend in the whole world... fucking Ted, or Tom, or whatever that dickwad's name is. Eventually she'll get jealous, kill him with an ice pick or something, and because it's a crime of passion she'll leave evidence all over the place incriminating her. Boom, she goes to jail, and you get not only the wife but in a couple of years you'll get their daughters pussy (legally this time of course).
And lo, for it is he, who would be in his own house. Eating those things what his friends have said he hasn't to have. Where in, they do have the thing that they themselves have said they are not to possess. And lo, he shall smile upon those who wish to begin the forgotten task that they themselves have bestowed upon their neighbors. In a rigorous snow-storm shall they be fought upon their mighty forts. In which dwell not but those things that have hitherto become known as no other than the only things that they shall be living upon. REJOICE, for it is the man who is in charge of what he will be, that shall be no other than what he wants himself to become, in the shadow of what the others have told him about what they thought he should originally be. The time for pettiness is at a time where it's last breath shall be tolled with great sorrow, for they who have buried it's fate have NOT, but time and crapulence on their side. In the ever expanding area that has been known from time to time as the only place where people have found that which belongs in their own thing, has the time ITSELF stopped from moving across the barren sand that desecrate their only means of hate. Not that the common man know of what these messages of the Gods mean, but that he understands that which is placed upon his brow, and through it allows himself to be placed alongside those who would wish his heavy heart into the hall of fear.
And as his heart weighs heavy he shall find the divination of everything that he once knew in now no longer that of the old ways. In his heart shall breed NOT, but what it feels is for the good of not only his kin, but also his heart. As it weighs heavy in his chest shall he know the fear bestowed upon that which he does not understand.
It is not a conundrum, for what else is there when you comprehend that life is the thing that rejuvenates your mind, and hearkens to the era that freezes that which is held dear? That they may drink from the eternal spring of panic is their greatest deficiency. That, and that they no longer look upon all that they thought that they knew.
I was going to update this website the other day, but I got so stinking drunk I couldn't figure out how to get out of my car. So instead I decided that a nice drive through the country would be a good idea. Don't get me wrong, I don't condone drinking and driving, I just hate that "MADD" bull shit, and hence forth, take every opportunity to piss them off as much as they piss me off. In fact in retrospect it was't exactly my smartest moment. Having just thrown an empty whiskey bottle at a parked police car, (or so the statement says) I had a hell of a time out-running and dodging him the first time. And I'm sure NOW, that the second time is a lot harder. Long story short, they let me go because I told them I was Osama Bin Ladin. They proceded to shit their pants, and run away in fear of my Osama-nes. I've tried that trick at bars, and ballparks since then, to thin out the line, and it works really well. I think I'm gonna go visit cuba, and get my free ticket from United or some shit by telling them I'm Osama. I'll talk to you when I get back.
I'm sure you've all been aware of the idea that "Time doesn't stand still for buisness" at some point in your life. And while techinally true, philosophicaly it couldn't be any farther from the truth. Consider, if you will for just a moment, the idea that time is not a revelant issue, and mearly a human "construct" where in we could make order out of unordered lives. It would then be feasible that we could infer that time is not really infinite, due to the fact that no animal living or dead could make use of a time spectrum who's intervals are nonexistant. What I am proposing here is that time does proceed in intervals, much like space. Actually, exactly like space, due to the fact that the two are so closely interwoven. (See what Einstein had to say.) Where that the intervals themselves are part of a bio-genetic DNA code that has been long bred ito the human condition. Not purposely, of course, but through mother nature and selective reproduction. This "bio code" would there for be used as a sort of emulator within the human mind to create new passages, or time holes, which the person could in turn use to re-order time into a more self serving event. This re-ordering while essential to a persons mental growth, not only per human but over the course of the species, would be useless to other species. With exception to the extra intelligent species. That, my friends, is why buisness, never stands still.
It dawned on me the other day... I've never seen the aurora borealis. I came to that conclusion after I had eaten a bottle of Dramamine, and managed to get my entire hand up my ass. I was enjoying playing with last night's goulash when I suddenly blacked out. I dreampt wonderfull dreams of swirling colors, mystic sounds, and paramedics. When I came to I found myself covered with that aforementioned goulash. How it got out around my wrist is a comeplete mystery to me. Either way, the lower half of my body was covered in a foul smelling shit, (that was made more foul by the fact I had about a pound of bubble-gum jamed up there) as well as most of the room beyond the southern half of my ass. I had shit under my fingernails for about a week. I'll never forget that as the night I met my wife.
Jesus I know this is not a well traveled site or anything, but for God's sake try to put a little effort into your day. I mean, Jesus, people what the fuck do I pay you for? Blowjobs? That can't be right because I've got the biggest hard on of my life right now and there isn't one of you little fuckers out there giving me a hummer. Christ I fucking hate you people!