8 September 2004

Tap Shoe Clad Benedictine Ocelots

Excuse me too busy you're writing a tragedy
These mess-ups you bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

Believe it or not, the world is flat and filled with gooey boston cream filling, and moving oneself in any way shape and form is a multistage process. Sure there's the boxing of stuff, ya know, the sparring and jabbing and the hyenas whooping and whatnot, but that's not what I mean. You will always have the physical baggage, the boxes and totes and random other items that in and of itself cause a problem, but lest we forget the rest I will continue to expound. Over there you got yer mental baggage, mostly of the thought and obligation variety, which if you ferget to attend to them, they haunt you like yer baby by your sister's mother. Well, maybe only if you live in Alabama. Or Kentucky. Or West Virginia. Okay, lets just extend it to anywhere in the lower forty-eight states until further notice. But I regress, to a cat, cos everyone wants to pass as cats... big, big stars. Maybe we all have reasons for that. But I digress. The emotional baggage, unaforementioned until now, is by far the trickiest and slimiest coagulating ink you'll ever come across. Maybe if I weren't so a glutton for punishment with burning bridges and cutting ties and slapping penguins on the ass... damn interspecies harassment suits. One of these days I'll have a dream. A dream of a world covered by humans, humans in orgies, orgies of sex, sex of... of... um... yeah, well any way, penguins. Those bastages of the avian world, the butts of jokes. Ha, flightless lil fuckers. But yes, yes, I will proceed. The boxes were packaged and arranged and things gotten rid of and sold and given away. The mass of junk I "need" now sits here in a nice quiet room in the hills of a Scottish city. One thing to relax about. As for the mental luggage, well I never tote much of that behind. I like to consider it an evolution as generations of children begin to abide by their own desires rather than altruistic motivations. Hence, I tend to lack the real need for friends, no offense to those that might still be out there. I enjoy those I have, but I trust them only superficially, only enough to put everyone at ease. Because sometimes I park in handicap spaces while handicap people make handicap faces... I'm an asshole, plain and simple. As for the emotional baggage, well lets just say that its long in tow. It's hard to place it where it belongs when no one wants to own up to responsibility other than me. It's life. It's like an accordion. I can't finish that simile, but you know what, I'm tired.
This, this is the nice new scene I need. I still have the feeling people will be people and lack the ability to accept or even like the person that I am, and again I'll have to adopt more "socially acceptable" outward traits. Just because thy tend to dislike my frank expressions, and lack the ability to grasp my sense of humour so that I am forced to regurgitate their expressions and others for a laugh. I'm a random thinker, so my sense of humour tends to lack a clear pattern as well. That's why it's funny. Don't laugh though, it's cool. I think I'm just cranky with all the stuff I have to do and have been doing. Not that I should really have to explain this post's utter depressing theme and lack of true humor that would tickle yer lil funny bone in yer lil funny lookin' arm. That'll teach you to play with gators in the jello bowl. Damn Aryan bastards. See, makes no sense, but nonetheless funny.
Whatever, I'm going to bed, five hours before all yall, so mnyeh, mnyeh on you.

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