Jun 24, 2006

Are All Dead?

Today, I decided to annihilate the animosity I feel toward womenfolk and fall headfirst into love with closed calculative eyes.

Here's the only problem:
I don't believe in compromise.

Compromise is a cold, calculative criminal with creative lapses leaking through lamenting palms. Equal parts promise and promiscuity, compromise prizes prose but primes its pristine visions of primitive thought processes. It waits like a cold just beneath the surface of the skin-- running zig-zag patterns through my bloodstream like alcohol.

I won't do it, so I'll change the subject.

I mean, no one reads this damn thing, so I can say anything I want to-- marionettes dance better than I do. Maybe someone should be pulling my strings. I put it to you, gentle non-readers--

WHAT THE FUCK DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET AN NL EAST TEAM TO BEAT THE FUCKING YANKEES?

I got it, though-- Argentina 1, Germany (nil). Yr boy Nowitski's got NERTHIN', son.

OUT--

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