I'm not even going to pretend to have anything of value to write about at the moment. I will apologize, though... 'cause I suspect, once this thing gets rolling, it will be a vacuous, self-serving, rant-n-roll about the most pedantic topics and irresponsible behaviour (not to mention caffeine-fueled, hyper-activity of the most sinister kind.... HEY! I said not to mention... I get away from myself some times) this side of the... ummmm... place that's somewhere over there... NO! over there... that's right... past the buck-toothed stripper with the tumor.
* Note to self: "tumor" and "240 pound bouncer/boyfriend" are two totally different things yet, surprisingly, neither one is good to have within earshot whilst espousing about the aforementioned teeth of the bucked kind or the stripper/girlfriend to whom they belong. Who knew? Now, would the designated driver please stand up, I may need some stitches.
Addendum: HA! Just kidding! I didn't need stitches after all....... this duct tape works just fine. Who's up for Jager-bombs?
oh yeah, I digress a lot... it's kind of my thing... like Fausto's knife tricks.
p
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