The Obscure

Hey hey, ladies and gents! I feel an update in my soul, for the first time in several times-worth. How are you all doing this wonderful evening? Good, I hope? Because I am doing good. Almost too good, in fact. Suspiciously good.
I better knock, (KNOCK!) on woood, Baby!
On an unrelated note, Bill Withers was a genius. Gimme the beat boys, free my soul.

I have juxtaposed myself next to a sea anenome of gladness! This sea anenome is like no other. It is spelled incorrectly. Also! It secretes poisons of joy and contentment, though it shows a face filled with only contempt.
I got in a fight with Roy Orbison earlier. I cut him. Cut him real good.

What's up with everybody? On this end, I am sitting here, wearin' my clothes that I like, listening to the music that I like, after taking a shower (that I liked) talking to nobody but the Exterior Self I have projected onto this blog. It is very relaxing, to communicate with a fabricated self. Talking to yourself is the best thing for yourself, even if it's subconsciously.
If we are wise, we'll know that there's always tomorrow.
LEAN ON ME!

I am in such a good g'damn mood right now. I don't know why, or how, of even If! Nevertheless, I assume it is true. And this is not the kind of assumption that can be assuaged with sausage--no no! This assumption is only for those assumptious enough to assume that which cannot be assumed by an assumé of average assumptivity.
And you know how those bastards are. VICIOUS!

Because I have LimeWire running now, I've been on this Grateful Dead binge, and have downloaded like fifteen tracks of theirs within the past two days or so. It's fun! Don't rat on me, bitch.
'tay-um one fing 'doe. M'leg-urts sump'um furce!
Yeah, bite that.

I tell you, man. I can't focus on shazz. Forgive this SPONTANAEITY of this post, for I know not what I do.
Whoa, my good times are rapidly diminishing. I need... REPETITIVE DRUG SYNDROME!
Four out of six adults suffer from repetitive drug syndrome. In fact, it's the most common syndrome of it's name known to modern science.
There is a road, no simple highway.

How many quotes would a quotechuck chuck if a quotechuck could chuck wood?
The answer, my friends, is blowin' in the wind.

I guessum I'm done with all these posts here. I am not aware (speaking of course, of my mental libido) enough to CREATE MINDS with all the AWESOME POWER OVER LIFE AND DEATH that I normally possess. I ask you only this...
Where have all the cowboys gooo-ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooone?

Goodnight my dear, sweet, San "Mr. Gaybot" McFransisco Treat, and may your hundred neutered children feast on the sweet rotting entrails of the wicked.