I seriously keep thinking, "You know, I could move down there, and you know, hang out and, you know...help out some way. It's not like I have some great job or anything."
It's dumb, I know. It's 11 AM my time, got off work two hours ago, I'm tipping a glass of bourbon southward in yer honor.
I can't think of any hollower offering than the old standby -- "if there's anything I can do. . . " -- especially since I've yet to be endowed with the godlike powers to make that offer viable.
You're in my thoughts, and what prayers I make. That, at least, I can offer.
Just keep fucking talkingchromeromeovoidOctober 11 2004, 23:52:19 UTC
I know you don't want sympathy and so I won't give you any. You, much like Fred are in the too fucking mean to die boat. Love ya, Kelly and look forward to striking at you from my grave in about 60 years. Just keep writing this stuff down, it's really good. I told you you needed a memoir.
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It's dumb, I know. It's 11 AM my time, got off work two hours ago, I'm tipping a glass of bourbon southward in yer honor.
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I can't think of any hollower offering than the old standby -- "if there's anything I can do. . . " -- especially since I've yet to be endowed with the godlike powers to make that offer viable.
You're in my thoughts, and what prayers I make. That, at least, I can offer.
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Tonight, Kelly, a couple shots of the new absinthe. It's 140 proof. For you.
Oh god. I totally want to fly out there.
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