Jan 01, 2006 00:46
How do you measure a year? Or a day? Who gives a fuck, because I measured my New Years Eve from 2200 until 0030 to the tune of 74 miles.
74 Glorious, sweeping, downright sexy miles. Grinning miles. Throaty miles. Tail waging miles. Miles well lived. Tonight I fought the darkness back (even the metaphorical one) with liquefied dinosaur remains.
And while they didn't hold any laughter today, they certainly held their share of mirth. Not myrrh you fool, mirth. It would've been firth, but the firth's worth in mirth is dearth compared to the mirth of the mountain turf and the roads it births. Allowing the exception of surf, which when you're talking firth, the dearth of surf robs it of all it's worth. And in conjunction with the mountainous turf's girth you can hardly say that the mirth of the firth, even with the surf, out weights the turf's mirth. Although it would certainly be worth finding a place upon the earth with a girth of firth, surf, and mountainous turf. The dearth of places of such mirth upon the earth make you take all the turf, for what it's worth.
*The storm will be Updated shortly*
touge,
errant,
rhymes,
love,
how do you measure a day,
rubber,
sweet oily goodness,
the storm,
tortuous,
new years