Saturday, May 11, 2002
Just finished work at Crunch, Kip's Bay. Rob is concerned about my home life and has handed me some pamphlets offering counseling services available under the company health plan. I had to lie to him and told him that the mark on my face was from this wild orgy we hosted where I was tied up and had experimental cosmetics applied to my face. He is ordering two cases of blush.
My anniversary card last year was a simple "8" finger-painted on a card with the words "is not Enough!" written on the inside. This year, I'm going to carve out of chocalate an "8" and say the words "Is not enough?" I promised him venom poured right in his ear as he plowed the tired fields that just then passed for my rear. He's a dick. He went to see "Spidernan" without me after we promised each other we'd see it together his response was I felt like it. Don't compliment yourself just because your ingorant of your greed but then think that it's neat. A dick only goes so far, then it's up to the eggs to play coy and fertile while all the sperm rush in to rape her. Only one will get in like the lottery will win and turn into something not dried on my skin. Unless we're talking about me. Body Lotion Ad Here
Okay, I wrote this one yesterday....... NASCARGRAIV ----------------------- My life desires to replicate that of Mark (Ricky) Martin driver of Viagra-endorsed 666 numbered bloated bullet thilling at the speed anticipating that next crash safe in the knowledge that all the important things inside are shielded from harm surprised at the degree to which I'll go to give you a peek and get me a poke. I must do a statistical analysis of the my phone bill to determine who eats up the most minutes. I should also do a statistical analysis of my web connections to see who eats up the most minutes. I should then do a study of the correlation between the two based on time and then provide candid information on which minute was lost when the two overlap.
Well, a shitload of fun I'm having or so it would appear but the bathroom is clean and the shitload downstairs. Did I say that? No, but I did think it. Is there a difference? Are my eyes fried or what? Yes, but I'm peeking. this exctacy I'm taking costs not more than lube and a good "GJK" porno right on my tube. The camera is watching I'm paid by the view by the new and the few who can buy better views. I'm the best view in town if we're talking about soaps unless they're soaps from the gym where The Penis Gallery mopes. Normand has the hots for Vinnie. I think Vinnie is a slut. Two sluts are a show i say just as I blow, then wash my hands quickly and say you must go. I came by myself a go it alone we live in glass houses yet think we're in stone hedge.
Well, the shiner is from the star falling off the christmas tree where i put it last Night after I fell off my rocker. "I'm Grandpa you fool, Yes it's Rockie II and you're my Adrian I give you HIV from sharing needles." We shouldn't knit.
he can go to hell won't need any booty socks to to do his booty socks but his Brooks Brothers would be just dandy,. He's a "passion fancy." yes, it's my property, so get in line.
I need him like the water needs something solid to show who the fuck is boss as well as to contain itself.
He counts the sneezes and holds me hostage until just one more.
My Handspring Is Dead ---------------------------------- Killed at the hands of a Blackberry It's non-comaptible applications thinking they're slick-shit when really they're diahrea. ---If that's Karin calling me----no, it's "unavailable" which means, "so am i" but it rolls over to my cell phone where they can eat my minutes so it change the mobile message to not include a number so that the damned baron-bankers won't know they've been switched! I just don't answer my cell as much anymore.
Is this thing working today?
Thursday, May 09, 2002
Okay. What I really wanted to say was: This is how cool the interenet is. I know my goddamned jesus normand is a skank-ass hoe who won't step up when it's his turn to father the child, you know what I mean? So I figured, instead of getting lacerations or palpitations or glycnoerobobobulations, I would send my pent-up energies to God, i.e. the internet, i.e. me. Send me some bucks before I started a goddamned line to keep you fat, ugly, fucks--delete-before-viewing-by-viewer-- in some order. Now thats a FACT! Greg Kanczes 521 West 47th Street, Suite 4A New York, NY 10036 (212) 957-8631 (though damned if I'll answer the fucking creditors think they're so slick. ****publsSH~** All monies sent to
And now to get the dog(s).
about a hill of beans in a vegetarian valley.
(sometimes nothing is some space)
I could have blaah-blah-blaaah-bla-bbblaaaa....
I could have blogged *all* night.
I could have blogged all night.
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