Hey! Sweet! Time for some end-of-year top ten lists yo!
Top ten reasons why you can't go to work on th' 26th:
10. My cawk fell off.
9. My spleen burst.
8. I converted and it's the Muslim Holy Day of Ramada.
7. I'm feeling "approach-avoidance"-y.
6. Buried memories of priest abuse surfaced. And I've been out of the clergy for years.
5. My ass sealed shut.
4. I'm covered with Santa smell. Ha ha ha ha.
3. Someone gave me a "Get Out Of Work Free" card. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
2. Carolers started doing that fucking silver bell song and I scattered them with my Mac 10 and now I'm getting all this fucking static.
And the number one why you can't go to work on th' 26th, um, thing:
1. I can't be exploited for another three seconds without crying. Crying. For the lost love. For the green fields of home. For the little children. For my squandered youth. For Jesus and Karen Carpenter and for what happened to Karl Marx.
Karl Marx! Can you imagine being Karl Marx? THAT fucking guy!! Woah!!!
If I started now maybe I could weep enough tears by 2040.
Why th' fuck did I put on that god damn U2? Now I feel like sobbing and moving mountains. And euthanizing strays. Like it says in the Good Book.
"The Beatles Recording Sessions".
I know I've asked this before but WHERE THE FUCK IS IT ALL GOING TO WIND UP?
WE'LL NEVER KNOW! THAT'S THE BITCH OF IT! ONE DAY YOUR KNOWLEDGE WILL GO ZZZZPT LIKE A ANT UNDER A GOD DINGED MAGNIFYING GLASSSSSS. I'M HAVING A HARD TIME WITH THAT.
A HARD GERD DERNED TIME.
Jesus Christ. I will sit and write anything nowadays to not have to confront my muse. I always do when I'm close to something. You know it's going to be all-consuming and maybe will or won't be what you wanted and might be an execreble execresence of excremental existentialism.
Fuck it here I go. Publish cerk-smerkin' post.
10. My cawk fell off.
9. My spleen burst.
8. I converted and it's the Muslim Holy Day of Ramada.
7. I'm feeling "approach-avoidance"-y.
6. Buried memories of priest abuse surfaced. And I've been out of the clergy for years.
5. My ass sealed shut.
4. I'm covered with Santa smell. Ha ha ha ha.
3. Someone gave me a "Get Out Of Work Free" card. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
2. Carolers started doing that fucking silver bell song and I scattered them with my Mac 10 and now I'm getting all this fucking static.
And the number one why you can't go to work on th' 26th, um, thing:
1. I can't be exploited for another three seconds without crying. Crying. For the lost love. For the green fields of home. For the little children. For my squandered youth. For Jesus and Karen Carpenter and for what happened to Karl Marx.
Karl Marx! Can you imagine being Karl Marx? THAT fucking guy!! Woah!!!
If I started now maybe I could weep enough tears by 2040.
Why th' fuck did I put on that god damn U2? Now I feel like sobbing and moving mountains. And euthanizing strays. Like it says in the Good Book.
"The Beatles Recording Sessions".
I know I've asked this before but WHERE THE FUCK IS IT ALL GOING TO WIND UP?
WE'LL NEVER KNOW! THAT'S THE BITCH OF IT! ONE DAY YOUR KNOWLEDGE WILL GO ZZZZPT LIKE A ANT UNDER A GOD DINGED MAGNIFYING GLASSSSSS. I'M HAVING A HARD TIME WITH THAT.
A HARD GERD DERNED TIME.
Jesus Christ. I will sit and write anything nowadays to not have to confront my muse. I always do when I'm close to something. You know it's going to be all-consuming and maybe will or won't be what you wanted and might be an execreble execresence of excremental existentialism.
Fuck it here I go. Publish cerk-smerkin' post.
posted by Bobby Lightfoot at 22:14
2 Comments:
Not to gloat after that cack-smackin' post, but I don't have to work for the week between the holidays. And lately that's the only good thing I can say about work.
uxltqjn - located on the Yucatan peninsula
LOL! But the Muslim holy month is actually "Ramada Inn". I'm quite sure about that. That's where my cawk fell off last year. Never did find it. The housekeeping staff was nice, and tried to help but...
znqbxlo - zinc buffalo
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