| Mar. 11th, 2009 @ 02:36 pm Is the poop deck really what I think it is? |
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I don't plan on using this journal, but it felt empty without the obligatory "test" post. Test post. Toast pest. Lorem ipsum yada yada yada.
I'm the one out there every day putting my arse on the line...and I'm not out of order, YOU'RE out of order! You want the truth? You want the TRUTH? You can't HANDLE the truth! When you reach over and put your hand into a pile of goo, and that was your best friend's FACE! You'll know what to do! Forget it, Marge! IT'S CHINATOWN!
Eight? EIGHT? Too old! Go home, Grandma! Oh, I am so sorry, little girl. I must go to anger management class. Stupid, WORTHLESS, anger management class! I HATE IT SO MUCH! I spit on it!
We can't bust heads like we used to, but we have our ways. One trick is to tell them stories that don't go anywhere. Like that time I took the ferry to Shelbyville; I needed a new heel for my shoe. So, I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on them. 'Give me five bees for a quarter,' you'd say. Now where were we? Oh yeah, the important thing was that I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn't have any white onions, because of the war; the only thing you could get was those big yellow ones... |
