Yes, my dumb ass had forgotten to work on my Typhoon to get it running. It needs some simple work in it to get the bloody thing running good, just a fuel pump. Well, I had predicted a heavy snowing in… January. Not December. Damn.
I woke up on the morning of the… 5th, I believe, and I had gone to do my normal routine of a tooth brushing and the depositing of nitrogen and slight amounts of heavy metals in my toilet bowl. When I was standing at the loo relieving myself, I was nearly blinded by the light reflecting off of god’s dandruff. Yes, it had snowed. Little did I know, that the snow was coming, and coming, and would keep coming all day. I did manage to do the unthinkable; walk to the liquor store.
Lo and behold! I have found the answer to the question. The final solution for my liver that evening. The Winter Ale. Yes indeed, it was a fine beverage. As soon as I saw the large bottle, I began to think of the ale delightfully dancing on top of my liver, doing it’s jig of liquor and pleasuring my brain with the dulling of the senses. I was going to type more, but honestly, the rye has begun to rot my brain from the inside out, and is commanding me to goto the garage and pay my Supra some attention.
You know, I made a sale off of shemale porn recently. I’ve said it before that the majority of people like either men, or women. Some, an unknown percent of the population, like the same sex. Where do these shemale people fit in? According to the places that run these sites, they list it as a “straight” category. How is that possible? I’d consider myself about as straight as it gets, but I don’t see how a “straight” man could enjoy something that, in most cases, doesn’t really look feminine, and it has a dick. I mean, that seems pretty left footed to me. I don’t think I would be ever saying “Hey, check out that chick, she is packing some serious crotch meat! Wow wow we wa!” It probably doesn’t fit in the “gay” category either. To those reading this, I don’t think it is wrong that some people live like this, far from it, in fact. I’m glad we live in a world that even if you have a dick and dress like a woman, that nobody will come to your house and kill you. I know in many parts of the world, just selling porn would be a punishment I could be punished, or killed for.
Maybe when I have some more time I’ll post some interesting videos of gangs in Jamaica. The murder capital of the world now, is in Kingston. I can’t find any stats for how many people live in that city, but there’s a murder there every 6 hours.
Imagine living in a city where you were unable to walk a block over to goto a store to get something to eat, without the fear of being shot or beheaded.
When I go out, the biggest fear I have is whether I’ll fart in my truck and not hit the button to put the window down fast enough.
Hmmm, I think I turned this simple blog post of music into a statement of how happy I am to live in Canada.
The flavour, to a small degree. The odor, the sweet caramel odor upon your nose, with your eyes closed you can almost disappear back to the times when you’ve had this fragrance dance within your head. The slow, warming sensation of your body reacting to the alcohol, and the emotions that pour forth. The flavour gets lost among the distant echo of memories duelling with the present, the slow and creeping slumber of liquor hits you like a wave of ether pillows. Mmm, that flavour is not so much in your mouth, but the taste of your experiences.
I can sit here, with this faint attatchment to this Lemon Hart, my friend and ally in the struggle to relax. I believe it is of the highest order that I need to escape again to sit beside a mirror calm lake. Listen to the birds call, and watch the sun saunter her way to her grave. Strange how my mind can recall the last summer’s amazing retreat to the lake, but really chooses to boil it to the surface with liquor. A cozy fire outdoors, the shimmering glow of distant nuclear flame, the sky a blue and black velvet that had shewn the ages to man, to which I was consciously oblivious. Oh how I long to pause this time, to stare up at the sky, away from the city. On a clear night when you can fade back, back to the days where God was in everything, ignorance was bliss, and everything was not automatic.
Tonight, my rum is not the soft brown and gold you see here, but a bottle of memories, a slow burning campfire that still crackles and heats the soul.
I guess it’s too bad someone has to suffer so I can have a Venti Mocha and a sportscar. Aren’t humans grand?
The organization that put together this video does not support birth control. With uncontrolled birthing, you are pretty much supporting a slave class of poorly raised children. Better them than me!
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