The Loss of Greatness, the Realization of Dependency, the Fight to Keep it all Together; The Awareness of and Hope For Love, Acceptance, and Victory.

20 cans of beans, corn, or vegetarian chili. One loaf of high fiber, whole grain bread. Box O' Triscuits. A cumulative total of over 200 grams of fiber, veritable cornucopia of cleansing power.














This is what it's going to take to cleanse myself of this wasteful weekend, to purify the putrid essence of failure currently tainting my tasteful sensibilities.

As a lover of colonic functionality and regularity, such efforts are los very lynchpins to mine own existence. And speaking of exodus, movement of Ja colon, how about the fucking ShitberBowl XL? And Extra-Large bowl of Excrement, for thine own bemusement? Perhaps a side helping of Balls Across the Nose?



Even Gumby decided to expand his potential range of defilement.


Radio London reminds you. Go to the church of your choice.





Witness the mounting of sea beasties by Claymation Royalty. Discreetly approve such activity.

The time has come.. my friends.. to talk of many things. The demise of favorite sites.. The love of others not reciprocated. The tangentinal referencing of those who will not reciprocate. The Utilization of a word twice in sequence, or at least the root of such a word? T’is unremarkable.. yet meaningful, at least for those who desire to comprehend, nay, understand, the missals which I emit. And do I emit missals? One could say. And one would be correct.

You see.. there came an interesting moment this evening wherein I heard a song.. that fucking song.. which I have heard too many times in recent days to dismiss as mere coincidence. That song was “We be going down, bitch” by Fall Out Boy, or at least that’s what I title said song, because in my universe, in which you all live, I control naming. And naming, what a subjective right! You are all named TED, NOW! Ted McfuckingGinley, of Married With Children fame! And I am getting wit’ Kelly Bundy, bitches! Can you stop me? Not in my universe! NEVER!

But I digress. And when there is a digression, there is a GLITCH in the matrix, NEO! Oh wait, no, t’is not the case. But that song.. I have heretofore ignored it, as if it were anti-thetical to my goals, life force, and general interests. But I found, dear reader, that there was a verse with which I found kinship. And that verse, I must say, contained the following words, “Sugar, we’re going down swinging.”

Admittedly, such an amalgam of letters is not usually quick to trigger my sympathetic sensibilities. But I thought it original, as if the writer, in a Neil Diamond-esque Brill building moment of clarity, stated, “You know, if we is going down, me brothers, us droogs is going down swinging. And in a blaze of glory, Bon Jovian, Samborian, and then thou shalt be laid down in a bed of nails.” And such spaketh the Bon of Jovi, Don of things.. futurisque.

Avocado and Hot Sauce Sandwich (on high-fiber bread) : Official Gastrointestinal PeaceKeeper of the New Centennial.

And so I made my peace with modern music. (DOLL STEAK!) For this evening. (TEST MEAT!) And in this evening, mis hermanos, so much has been.. subjective. I went to a local bar, which does happen to offer my favorite beer on this here planet, Pliny the Elder. And being a “Liberal Arts” kind of person, I was analytically attached to the progression of time. And I drank. And drank. And left, to return to my domicile.. only to find.. But one hour had passed.

Being so.. inspired after only one hour of consumption, I cracked a Becks and sat down at l’ordinateur, to determine the course of events passed, current, and forthcoming. And wouldn’t it be fitting that one Gordon Sumner, alias of Sting, spaketh such..

Tu ments.. Ma soeur.. Tu grise ma coeur.
Je pense.. tu sais.. erreur? Jamais!
Ecoute! Je parles.. Je ne comprends pas bien.
La belle dame sans regret.

And then there was a wall, Dear Reader, into which I ran. Considering my available options, I shook my head, smiled, and came to one conclusion. There was but one option to which I should myself avail: The Gravity Bong.

This has got to be the saddest day of my life. I called you here today for a bit of bad news. I won’t be able to see you anymore because of my obligations..and the ties that you have.. We've been meeting here everyday. And since this is our last day together, .i want to hold you just one more time... when you turn and walk away don’t look back.. i want to remember you just like this.. lets just kiss.. and say goodbye

This development inspired memories of a time not frequently acknowledged but nonetheless experienced: High School statements. And one which you will completely envision, and declare wholly true and thusly original, “Dad,” spaketh one young friend of mine, “You could have done better than Mom.”
“I know Son,” respondeth said paternicus, “I know.”

These utterances have I heard.

And so with the current champion of Green, inspiring visions unseen (and those… unclean) dominating the annals of perception

“(Marie’s the Name of) His Latest Flame” Elvis Presley, Some Fucking Greatest Hits Collection

suddenly entered into the realm of the Pod of I and thusly I was transported, nay, propelled into a moment of diffused ridiculum.

This girl was in my arms and swore to me.. she’d be mine eternally..
And Marie’s the name.. of his latest flame.


And suddenly all similar progressions and veritable transgressions were underdone, yea, baby love me.. yes yes she does, spaketh The Neil..


















And with a wink and a knowing nod, Gumby sayeth to all: Peace out. Thanks for the memories.