After watching an animated piece of shit hosting a Christmas show in which Santa and Jesus do a singing number a la Sinatra and Crosby and among a dozen other bits of creative genius (if you disagree, no worries, the sense of humor is like the universe and not everyone is ready for deep space travel, after all, somebody needs to stay here minding the cows), I watched The 4 Million Child Blow with a 41 year old man's confrontation of the childhood trauma of not being molested by his father ending with him telling Kenny G that he kisses like is father (you had to be there). In between, god appeared after a really bad Rod Stewart concert and told an eight year old with facial stubble from hormone pills that boys don't get periods.
The way it works, you see, is I reach for distraction and swallow a lot of sick crap and poop out something like this. Metaphorically, of course. Pigging out on canned pasta and swiss rolls helps, sometimes. If I survive until morning, I'll celebrate with you if you are still here. Then next week I'll see the colorectal surgeon to get all this sick crap figured out because everybody wants to get their shit together, right?
Then, after queef, we learned the many meanings of mung mung or even The Mung (now we know you went to Oxford because we saw you with that dead girl and you can eat out with your friend but don't go swimming for an hour), but nothing compares to you, ya know?
Remember, some psychologists offer little more than psychological abuse
facts of life on the beach, but it could be just because I want to (though I have no clue what I want to, I just know I want to, maybe). I have no idea what I link sometimes, I just find a link in my scribble pads and include it here as if it has come profound meaning that relates to the topic at hand. Since the topic at hand seems to be random distraction, whatever.
It must have been a challenging summer.
Narf :)
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