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I have an opinion about shit and it's very valuable. People care on the internet and they know me better than anyone in the world. I take it to heart and I put my heart in this and what do I get. I get what I put in when you put out and thats dick. What does that have to do with anything at all. None of this fucking matters because compared to the universe I am not even a speck of dust or a fragment of a figment of your imagination. I need my medication and all I get is my medicine from the likes of these beaver pelts. It comes to me as no surprise your area smells like cat piss and vomit and you say things that give people cancer of the spine. Only if once just once you slipped in someone else's vomit at a venue and fractured your fucking elbow then you would realize and understand how much I love not knowing you at all. Besides you are so much better besides the fact you think your pity full little conscience lasts forever. I order my Diazapam online because the Doc doesn't want to be responsible. I don't want to go to fucking class. I get depressed because that little light I had in my groin a long time ago was taken away by some abusive man's "boy". He was a fucking prick and I heard he died in a car crash and I felt like hell yes! Fucking be dead you sack of dead cats.

The sun is just there to remind us that we are going to rot one day and it would be best just to hide in the ground or be burned because no one wants to see smell or hang out with your dead ass. Except for maybe some necrophiliac babysitters with pigtails. But your on you're old bullshit again ranting and raving about nonsense so pay attention. I need you to pay attention to nothing as your brain turns into such a mass of useless biomeat that it's a wonder you remember to breath. I am an avid aspiration of aspiring. To what I am not sure but that is besides the point. The thing that really really matters is you fucking keep eating our roommates food and I get blamed. Or I have to listen to them bitch because well. I listen to it. I feel like the third person in the story of this bitching and you act like you own this place and you don't even pay rent. Or share. Are you serious? I mean really. The fucking internet cell phone mass distraction glowing in too many peoples faces because they hate where they are. And there is the guy bitching because he is the "go to man". So in return I don't go to him for shit and then he's like huh. I must have done something to piss them off. I always do. Oh well fuck them I doubt any of them would have my baby any way even if I took them out to chili's and bought the food, drinks, and introduced them to the mayor of mental candy land located somewhere near the pituitary gland.

Gene Simmons is your doctor of love and he has the cure your thinking of. Want to go for a ride? Hell no you don't. Every one has high standards which is amusing because 78% aren't worth shit and a penny. I reach deep deep down and put my left foot in and it doesn't come back the same. I hate these pains in the chest that remind you of your mortality. So what will I do before I die. I dunno I guess I will do what I have done and that is what I did. I think very often that the black plague had a really good Idea. I would like to meet the black plague and shake it's hand and ask where have you been all these years? It's like when a cross eyed redneck gets in your face trying to buck up for a fight and you have to laugh a little. Even though he is in your face you wonder if he is looking at you. Fail! Thats what the kids are into these days so get with the times. Failure is quite popular yet taboo. I am laughing at you not with you sort of thing. If the internet is the information superhighway then the computer must be the trailor park for the soul.

Sometimes I pray to the rubber trees that Santa will bring himself in the incarnation of being real. Please be real Santa. Please be real. Have I been a good boy? It depends on one's perception and standard of being right or wrong, good or evil. But he knows if you've been good or bad. SO why didn't he write the bible. Why doesn't he let us know!!! And then maybe we can Right all of these wrongs. Maybe Santa is the Saviour in a steak suit on I81 on his way to NY. And if you stop and give him a ride KOAY will give you a T-shirt and 500 dollars.

Hoblem Uploaded 08/26/2008
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