shla-bob!

freeeeaakkk! 5.14.04 at precisely 05:16. That is correct; in the AM, and loving it now, of course I'll be hating myself in about three hours when I get a hangover from sleep drunkeness.

Cranky Stank.

With a bottle of crippin on the top. That's right, the bold flaming sensation of the backside of the Dawn, not me, the morning. Because the sun in fact consists of nuclear reactions and flatulents. But let's not send our sense of humor into the commode area. Not even a portable. Unless Tidyclean® is in service in the same campsite. Then and only then I would be both crazed and enthused.

Ever felt Dendall's love handles? Or seen his forest of a stomach?

What happens to a Kendall food deprived?
Does it shrivel up and die?
Does it fly into the sky?
Does it poke itself in the eye?
Does it slip into the night?
Does it cripe on many johns
While singing solemn songs?
Does it void itself in wrong
with many a smelly gong?

or does it EXPLODE!

or implode?

But in fact pink elephants may someday fly, if indeed you are able to hack into the matrix.

So go ingest some spicy cajun pringles and digest the creeps and then regress to your old voilent unregenerate lifestyle, cursing the new.

Actually, disregard the previous sentence.

This is a terrible thought, so brace yourself. If someone is suicidal, I would suggest giving them a new mountain bike and drop them off in the middle of some extreme bike trails, so they'll either kill themselves on the trails or enjoy it so much they won't be suicidal anymore.

Unless of course, multiple starchy compounds are compressed in the backside of your motorized vehicle (unless of course potatoes are stuffed in all of your tail pipes)

one CRRAAAAZZZYY night.
Have a good one, or a morning, whichever comes first after the act of reading this piece of antipurpose idle noncrap.

Good ----------- (fill in the blank)

The Big.

p.s. I've been up since 06:00 hours, sir

p.p.s. And I intend to not let my contacts dry out. So ha.