Insanity
The rat race is on in the city streets all around. Pesky little buggers, all of them. But you know what they say: don't count your flies until they're all swatted.
Confused?
So was I when my cat brought a dead dog to my doorstep. As a present, or so I think. Maybe the bitch was just trying to freak me out. A vicious thing she is and I certainly wouldn't put it past her.
Anywhoo, that episode got me thinking about the people on the streets, fucking their way through their messed up lives. Walking around some and buying shit.
Ever thought of how many people you walk past on the street every day? I sure haven't. Gives me the creeps, them people dressed up in pimped up designer clothes careening up and down the aisles of the capital looking at shopping windows. Looking for things, too, sometimes.
They look at candy, weapons, books, and all the other dangerous sorts of things that can get you into trouble and/or get you killed you if you're all out of luck. Pet shops, too. Did I mention the bitch bit the fucker's head clean off? Yeah, well, she did.
Cat food. I always forget putting it on the shopping list. Might explain the bitch's behavior come to think of it. But then, when you're all jacked up on meth you've got other things to worry about than feeding the feline monstrosity.
Got my own collection of tinfoil hats lined up neatly on my bookshelf. One for every alien that's probed my ass in the recent weeks. Of course I don't remember, but that's the beauty of it. If they do it that way they can count on the horror in my eyes being first-grade every time they prep my anus for insertion. I'm sure it gets them off, can't see another reason for doing it, really.
Wonder what ointment they use. Good stuff, that, can't feel any pain in the proverbial rear end. Or maybe it's the meth. I wouldn't know, I'm not a doctor.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to check my medicine cabinet. The bitch is jonesing for some of the good stuff, and I really don't like making her wait. Have a good one and fuck you all!
Confused?
So was I when my cat brought a dead dog to my doorstep. As a present, or so I think. Maybe the bitch was just trying to freak me out. A vicious thing she is and I certainly wouldn't put it past her.
Anywhoo, that episode got me thinking about the people on the streets, fucking their way through their messed up lives. Walking around some and buying shit.
Ever thought of how many people you walk past on the street every day? I sure haven't. Gives me the creeps, them people dressed up in pimped up designer clothes careening up and down the aisles of the capital looking at shopping windows. Looking for things, too, sometimes.
They look at candy, weapons, books, and all the other dangerous sorts of things that can get you into trouble and/or get you killed you if you're all out of luck. Pet shops, too. Did I mention the bitch bit the fucker's head clean off? Yeah, well, she did.
Cat food. I always forget putting it on the shopping list. Might explain the bitch's behavior come to think of it. But then, when you're all jacked up on meth you've got other things to worry about than feeding the feline monstrosity.
Got my own collection of tinfoil hats lined up neatly on my bookshelf. One for every alien that's probed my ass in the recent weeks. Of course I don't remember, but that's the beauty of it. If they do it that way they can count on the horror in my eyes being first-grade every time they prep my anus for insertion. I'm sure it gets them off, can't see another reason for doing it, really.
Wonder what ointment they use. Good stuff, that, can't feel any pain in the proverbial rear end. Or maybe it's the meth. I wouldn't know, I'm not a doctor.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to check my medicine cabinet. The bitch is jonesing for some of the good stuff, and I really don't like making her wait. Have a good one and fuck you all!