diesel truckers article with new keith interview, hat tip to Ronnie ock, who’s got all kinds of ultramags info & lyrics & shizzles today, as WELL as some radio glob insanity with all kine ultramags keith dillios.

I prolly over repetitiously link ronnie's steez lately, but it’s got too much good shit with which I have to educate you on. All 2 of you. Oh wait, mr. Rockwell just went pottie, so, yup, you. Thanks for coming by? Tea? Sorry, fresh out bitch.

Ps: I have spoken my last werds for the nonce on a certain crime lord, etcetera acre and his bloodstained croney. Aka carlton. Dunn & dunn. Don’t forget about brooks.

As for, uh, that dillio, fuck it. Have I mentioned that I’m reading michener’s mexico? Good book. You care. Serially.

Also, in further news, this blog is in fuckin credible. Fa real. And you’re seeing the unofficial version I heard after extensive research and behind the scenes contemplation.

imagine if front street was your actual addy, as in domicile from which you were not allowed to move. whut would ya do? would you just like perpetrate on an exit strategy or would you just flaunt all your gaunt ass wherewithalls, and we're talking, like, front was conveyed as your place of residence not by machinations under your control but secret enemies with lies and spies and invisible robots, all that shit, but, there would be a variety of decisions involved in your rationalae at that point, possibly involving ways & means committees and lots of factors would have to be elucidated very clearly and hopefully concisely to yourself before making a quite pertinent decision.

of course all this is theoretical. no one knows who you really are. only you. and maybe not even said person. yup, let it be vague and mysterioso, who needs a clear mirror when you can just, ya know, toggle in between modes on the barkalounger and say wuddup to the la dee dah conventioneers, those mouseketeers whut which can't be bought off for all the duckets in the world but heat em up a hungry man and it's all gravy.

Boy howdy. Girl howdy. Anykine howdy you want. This is getting how do you say, the antithesis of frustrating?? No, no you don’t. so, um whutsup with blogshares? It confuses me. Are we not men or are we some kind of deranged stock? Who has time to play this game? How do I have time to concern myself with it? African or European swallow? You know the deal.

I think I’m gonna get a tattoo of the jurk storr. No one can co-opt that shit. Blood relative or nut, I mean, well, shit, ok, he did found it, or, no fuck that, he didn’t found it, well, he knew of it before I did, but fuck that, I mean, who blew that shit up? Me, that’s who. Who do I trust? You get the pic.

What is the protocol for, nah, fuck that. Won’t even go there. Ok yah I will, it’s too good, for referencing a pic of Nixon bowling, you gotta go to where you got it from, to how you discovered, aka the discovery channel, and then you get to see what may be the best room ever for throwing around a heavy ball. Serially. Can you even imagine being there? I can and do.

howdy pards. Shit. Um, wussup. Did I say that already? Whutevs.

Uh, yup, lotsa, well, not really, uh, that much, uh, happnin? Hmmmm.

Uh, it’s, uh, pretty interesting. Don’t even ask me whut?

Oh yah, you, oh wait, oh yeah, you can.

You may be wondering why I have the same, uh, you know, as, well, you know.

I can’t really explain it, but it’s not whut it seems. For the most part.

Shyeah, I don’t normally, well, uh, shit, fuck it, you know, it’s unavoidable, ok not, at a certain point, it all gets, well, you know, a certain, you know, that. Unseddable. Yup, exactamundo, and then no more is allowed to be said.