Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Charlie and the Chocolate Blog

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I kind of dig life at the moment, really.

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Unless your ass can catch up to a van moving at about 65 on the Belt Parkway, don't ask me to open the door.

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On Thursday Night, a bunch of faggot trees decided to destroy my house.

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Now, I love this bar because of its cheap drinks and proximity to home, but I never go there without a couple of friends and a getaway car.

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grammar has been grossly neglected, and i have failed miserably in both using vulgar language or indulging in linguistic latitudinal transgressions.

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If you have been living a subterranean existence for some years now, the Rapture, or God's Giant Vacuum Cleaner, was foretold in the Book of Revelation, a pre-chemical hallucination known in some circles as the Gospel According to Fellini.

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I'm probably dead by now.

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Our gerbil, Slanderkins, just had 15 babies and we have been busy knitting sweaters for each of them, which has brought on a wicked case of Carpal Tunnel.

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I don’t know if there’s mold in the house or what, but everything (including food) has a distinctive ‘Grandma’s’ taste/smell.

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My mom has Caller ID, and we know that she's paranoid.

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Upon arrival in Texas (whether by birth or transplantation), everyone is given the middle name "Bob" (hence Billy Bob, Becky Bob, etc.)

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I was male in my last earthly incarnation, born somewhere around the territory of modern Turkey approx. on 575.

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My libido renders me stupid.

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I have three sons. Yes, like the TV show. Only my three sons aren't Faggotronz.

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The snot fairy has visited our house once again.

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Really, if I didn't already know better I would ask myself obnoxiously, "are you on the rag?"

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It brings to mind the image of Buster Keaton being chased by angry brides in Seven Chances.

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I'm surprised they haven't created a Law outlawing wild animals from publicly urinating and defacating!!!

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Anyhoo, this weekend I'm off to Fire Island, some sort of mythical gay island civilization.

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I don't want to turn into my own mother. How does one avoid turning into one's mother?

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I've finally decided that anyone stupid enough to try crossing a street as the light is turning red had better be running or I'm taking them out...thinning the herd if you will.

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As usual the mailroom guys know all the hot gossip and luckily I know a guy who knows a guy who knows them guys.

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Being a bitch and not budging on a principle is a pain, some people are more experienced in this area than I am.

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My Daddy says Scott Weiland is overrated and his voice sounds like dog poop. I've never heard Dog Poop, but I stepped in it once and it was smelly.

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