Fuck, it's gonna get hot. Might explain folks forgetting about pot numéro deux two days in a row which ain't just for smokin', but doesn't others Pepperidge farming their annual springtime douchebaggery. That's a well-cultivated hydroponics, narc, a burn I want out of.
How come I always finagle shit on the Wheelie Bus when I've no ball-point because the domestic point lost its brass & I had to purloin myself for gold? That Homer sure was s-m-r-t. Repetitively repeating repetition gets repetitive, but O, it's awesome: fourteen's easier than 14k.
Just call me Slackajawea.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Sunburn
Posted by Randal Graves at 8:32 AM
Labels: black hole sun, esoteric order of st. drogo, la poésie, music, office warfare
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11 comments:
What, global warming has gotten to Clevelandistan?
Interesting times, indeed.
~
I'm assuming you've tried the old pressing nib to paper to at least leave the impression that you can pull from later trick right?
Some of us went home sick and therefore didn't get our usual dosage of St. Drogo's Elixir.
So which is worse slathering on SP 50 or scraping moss from the old bod? I'd trade ya. And what too cheap for air conditioning in the darkened halls of the monastery?
if, last time it wasn't occasionally toasty round June in these parts was when the wooly mammoth stomped on Cro-Magnons.
duchess, I am familiar with spy flicks yes, but I had stolen my last pen from myself.
Excuses, excuses.
demeur, I don't know anything about your hazmat chemicals, sir.
The Slab is indeed intermittently AC'd but lo, that walk to the Wheelie Bus, egadeth.
Just be glad you don't live down south in tropical Columbus.
The Bushmaster and the Fer de Lance are fierce this year.
~
I wrote something the other day. It was called, "Bobby's dead!!!"
Bobby's d-e-a-ddddddddd.
And no! He will never be back. They burned him up good! And his little flask too!
Muwhahahaha!
((Hugs))
Laura
if, those, like the black mamba, are safe for handling, right?
laura, he's gonna come back as a mushroom, you're gonna step on him, releasing spores that make you hallucinate Mr. Singer till the end of time.
Yeah, this daily recurring cyclic stuff that reoccurs ever twenty-four hours is nauseating. There are times I actually get confused and do not know if I am coming or going.
Graves, you swine!
All this time when people said something about sticking it where the sun don't shine, I assumed that they meant Clevelandiastan.
The sun doth shine too much, paleface?
Rgds,
Tengrain
I'm considering the purchase of some tropical coast property in Newfoundland. Do you want to invest?
BB, MIRROR UNIVERSE DYSTOPIAS KILL. Get back to work.
tengrain, since the dawn of time, I've yearned to destroy it.
susan, do you take Monopoly money?
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