(no subject)
i was sick and didn't go to the movie.
and now i'm all alone wishing i was sick at the movie.
that would have been better....
iron chef is over.
and i hear the wicked sound of emril...
i think he's an alien.
i'm not certain of his agenda here on earth, but i'm sure it's quite gruesome.
just watch him sometime...
-he trails off mid sentance.
-he flicks his tongue from time to time like some kind of lizard. i'm sure hhe thinks no one notices.
well, i notice.
-and those people in the audience...laughing at things that aren't remotely laughable...staring bllanky as if in a trance...lured by the power and aroma of his tainted, poisioned culinary treats...
i mean "snatch"?
one doesn't eat a meat product named "snatch"
"you gotta pound the snatch with the mallet until it gets real tenda'"
that's not normal, man...
...not on the kitchen counter, for sure...
unsanitary...
(this is what happens wehn i'm left home alone with the television)
i want my posse to come home.
i NEED my posse to come home...
i fear my own mind...
my underwear has lots of small, colorful hearts on.
i adore them.
and, if it wern't for the cold, i'd wear nothing but.
i may, anyway, reguardless.
and thus is my night.
alien conspiracies and an unnatural passion for my heart underwear.
oh, what is this wreck i've become?!
(actually, this all is completely normal. i don't know why i just said that...)
and now i'm all alone wishing i was sick at the movie.
that would have been better....
iron chef is over.
and i hear the wicked sound of emril...
i think he's an alien.
i'm not certain of his agenda here on earth, but i'm sure it's quite gruesome.
just watch him sometime...
-he trails off mid sentance.
-he flicks his tongue from time to time like some kind of lizard. i'm sure hhe thinks no one notices.
well, i notice.
-and those people in the audience...laughing at things that aren't remotely laughable...staring bllanky as if in a trance...lured by the power and aroma of his tainted, poisioned culinary treats...
i mean "snatch"?
one doesn't eat a meat product named "snatch"
"you gotta pound the snatch with the mallet until it gets real tenda'"
that's not normal, man...
...not on the kitchen counter, for sure...
unsanitary...
(this is what happens wehn i'm left home alone with the television)
i want my posse to come home.
i NEED my posse to come home...
i fear my own mind...
my underwear has lots of small, colorful hearts on.
i adore them.
and, if it wern't for the cold, i'd wear nothing but.
i may, anyway, reguardless.
and thus is my night.
alien conspiracies and an unnatural passion for my heart underwear.
oh, what is this wreck i've become?!
(actually, this all is completely normal. i don't know why i just said that...)