Riverrafting trip...I shall return in a week or so.
In the meantime, savor the sweet smell of summer. while it lasts.
Peace. Love. Unity. Respect.

audblog audio post

Sorry about the "Awww, crap!" in the middle of the post. You see, a massive fruit bat busted through my window and started feasting on my armpits, which kind of tickled.

Inspire me.
The night I lost the will the fight is the night I lost the will to write.
I'm waiting for the Electrician, or someone like him.
Electrify me.

I am an apathetic goldfish, slowly dying in a plastic bag full of deflated desires that a little girl with fragile hands left on the trolley.

When she gets home and the excitement of the carnival dissipates she will realize she left me behind and she'll cry and run to her mother screaming, she will mash her frail little hands against her eyes.
"Mommy! We have to go back. I left my Goldy on the trolley! She's going to be so lonely! She's going to die!"

Mother will hug Little Girl and say, "Don't worry sweetie, it was only a goldfish."

The Hi...Club
an elite society

Founders
Chelsea
Katrina
Members
Maria
Clara
Casey
Melissa

Could the next member be you?

His red hands frozen in perfect juxtaposition, his cadaver melts on my floor.
He fell from his windowsill where he had crookedly resided for too long.
As I looked down at his broken face I felt refreshingly alive, as if his death catalyzed my liberation.
The Clock had stopped running days, perhaps weeks ago. Still, he had laughingly scorned me from his lofty ledge, a reminder of deadlines and impending disaster.
How fortunate that he has fallen of his own accord, how fortunate he has freed me from his numerical talons.
He is shattered.
Now, I am free to play in the sands of time, and swim in this ocean of oblivion.
His cadaver melts on my floor.

In other news, Chelsea went bicycle riding and split her pants open. She simply swung on the freaking swing at the park, pondered the deep things of life, and felt her warm right cheek blossom forth from the fabric, greeting the frigid air. Captain "Commando" Sexton endured the Ride of Shame back to her home, passing many a gaping onlooker and giggling elderly ladies. She got home and photographed the unattractive sight (donning modest bathing suit bottoms to keep things PG), when they split even more. Exasperated, Chelsea ripped both sides down the back and made her own jean-cordouroy chaps. Pictures of the new pants coming soon. Notice: In the last picture, take note of the Chelsea's bed. That's after one night of sleep. Wildcat, isn't she?

OH HOW I AM FILLED WITH RAGE!
DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DO WHEN I AM EMBROILED WITH ANGER?

I put on some eyeliner and cook Mushrooms Elegante.

HAH! I am Churro, distant cousin to Zorro, and I have exacted my revenge with a flaming skillet and racoon eyeballs.

Provi che le cose che dico esistono.
Tutto suona più grazioso in una lingua straniera. Scopata.

tick/ [pictures page one]
\tock [pictures page two]

Floating wig syndrome!
I took it off quite a while ago, but the wiggy sensation is still there. Like when a person's amputated leg starts itching. After so much hectic planning and shopping, it's over. The costume party is done, and we're mostly home now, albeit sporting moist fishnets and melted makeup. Quite disappointed in the performance of the male species. Why would you come to a costume dance party, if: a) You don't wear a costume, b) You don't dance, c) You refuse to mingle with the rest of the party.
Thankfully, one or two of my trusty men at work were there, and saved the dance floor from being a sea of creamy estrogen.
I kareoked.
A lot.
Hah.
I actually had more fun at Denny's afterwards.
I was propositioned by several men, but I blame them not. If I saw me at 2 am, I'd think I was a hooker transvestite.
I managed to: shove 24 French fries in my mouth (Gag.), keel over (Multiple times.), find interesting uses for a wig cap (Pigface lives.), wear my boots ALL night (Ow?) and accidentally ingest a strip of false eyelashes (That's going to tickle).

Let's all be feisty pirates.
I apologize for never updating, dear inky void. I only feel the need to update in order to keep me from sleeping. Sleep is the enemy. The injection of liquid into the intestine by way of the anus is the enema. My bathing suit is hanging from the ceiling. I'm sitting on the floor. There's an empty pudding cup on my desk. You can dance if you want to, you can leave your friends behind.

I am the Lizard King, I can do anything.
I'm a drunken buffoon, I play Yatzhee with my pet loon.
I better sign off before I not-so-spontaneously combust.



Poof.