I feel like I’m about to fucking explode.

Aaaannnnnd we’re back. It’s not so bad now. A little lighthearted banter with the tampa bay bantha rays and then it’s like I’m right as rain. Acid rain. Coursing through your brain on a journey of vital destruction. Nah.

So now it’s later. Not the candy. Ummm, yup. So, I’m listening to the satoshie tomie cd that I gotta come up with something on it, and the well seems dry but I’ll persevere, come up with something. I like it. It’s good. What more is there to say? It’s got beats, bells, whistles, the whole she-bang.

And I don’t HAVE to write something up, it’s like a goodness heart dillio, well, not really, I should, I really should, cuz I said I would. It’s like, you don’t have to feed the dog, but you said you would, well, that’s not really a valid comparison, now is it, you enjoy feeding the dog, cuz you enjoy the dog being alive, just like you enjoy writing cd reviews, cuz you enjoy getting free stuff, does that make sense?

I know. It doesn’t. this is just unpublishable. Cazart. That means like “holy shit, I might have known.” It’s like brazilian or some shit. An old HST reference. Did you know he WASN’T on drugs when he went through the whole fear & loathing Vegas thing? You’re not supposed to know that, he wanted it to seem like he was, but he wasn’t, at least not at that particular avenue. Other times, yah, stoned out of his gourd.

Jesus Christ almighty who gives a flying rat fuck fuck rat about this shit at all anyway.

Tha jurk storr called, stuff it up your ass, etcetera etcetera etceter fucking ah.