May 17 2009
You can say that I’m a dreamer but I’m not the Obiwan
A couple of days ago, I decided to let my genetic predisposition to emulate Bobby McFerrin shine through and celebrate the possibility that my insignificant penis may never become the premier destination for Googlers and Yahoos looking for a little — and I mean insignificantly little from the bottom of my shallow heart — piece of the local InterWebinational hot action, but I ended up doing some smack and washing down two four ways hit of windowpane with a fifth of grain, so that vibe was totally lost, but hell, I still don’t regret a thing.
Tomorrow I will probably lobby for an estate tax on wealthy assholes who undoubtably pass on their despicable and totally undeserved feeling of happiness to their offspring without paying their fare share to the cosmic utensil, but for today, I have nothing to say about whitey except walk right in, sit right down, and whitey let your ass hang out. You know what I like most about white people, niggers, spics, douchebags, and voters? If so, e-mail me or comment on this blog, so I can mock you.
