Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Hell is other hells (the ones without sex, drugs & rock &/or roll such as the Hell Where People Are Skinned Alive, duh)
Knows what's in a six-demon bag.
Does that mean the library is hell? One does detect from day to hour the deliciously acrid scent of weed wafting through the air off of various tweed-clad professors & tracksuited & ugged students no I'm not naming names but ever since that pseudo-renovation the back stairwell is no longer the hangout of choice for either stoners or amateur filmmakers not that kind of film you sick bastards. Rock &/or roll? Books on the usual suspects (DYLAN UBER ALLES ACHTUNG LENNON/MCCARTNEY MACHT FREI) but admin won't go for Darkthrone as closeout in lieu of less abrasive announcing. Wankers.
As for an activity that has pride of place in the loins of many fine & not-so-fine folks, one does occasionally come across a condom wrapper, though that's as rare as un étudiant not declaring, upon hearing the due date, that he/she/it will return the books sooner rather than then 'cause he/she/it's got a paper on procrastination due tomorrow guffaw never heard that one fourteen billion times over the last two decades. Not all oldies are goodies, bubs & bubettes.
I need a vacation. I hear Venezuela's nice.
"I'll let you know, but first, the massacre, then, the discotheque. Bunga bunga!"
The Bank of Hades card. Don't leave the black pit of despair without it*
All Li'l Edgar dances with is Discover & himself.
*not accepted in Tartarus or New Jersey.
Prélude à l'après-midi d'un pretzeldent: I can hear the Cleveland monologuery Q & A'd on the talking picture box -- curse ye, unknown coworker! -- which means I'm well within my right to air guitar to 90 decibels of Negative Plane.
Win the Future™!