The Sky is not Yellow it's Pollo
Gentlemen on the prowl: IT would seem that conciousness has been altered would it not? I mean who reads this shit anyway? At times I find myself wondering just how many beers Iceman will drink before he starts pissin' kidney stones. Everybody must get stones. Really, it's not as bad as all that but come on, suicide is so Hemingway and that dude's been dead longer than any of us have been contemplating suicide. Remember, there is only what you do and do not, all else is mere conjecture, conjectively speaking of course. It's obvious isn't it, salmon should be kept in the fridge lest it need to thaw.
Already I'm regretting all the mistakes I'm likely to make, grammar is such a bore. Perhaps we'd be better off writing hieroglyphics in the snow with our piss, or in the dust for that matter and it just doesn't matter. What I'm getting on here is that I want attention, accolades, respect: tangibles, motherfuckers, tangibles. It's times like these that make me sneeze, and if the snot's sticky and green you must acquit! There's a difference between a bastard and your brother, but they both start with B. Big B, little b, what begins with B? That bastard brother of yourn's big brass balls. Fuckin' monkey.
There are those of us who choose to abstain from the most basic of excesses. Voting, playing the lottery, and engaging in senseless discussions on the topic of gay marraige. And there are those to whom excess is a way of life. I'm thinking Oso Blancos colonoscopy photos - FUCK!!!!!! It really is only just a matter of time, and if you think about it time is now. I mean we don't get older by the year or decade, we get older in the now...every second of every second fucking second. A gray hair appears instantly. Age happens now. Instant baldness. Instant karma. Instant coffee. Instantly instant for instance. So, then, perhaps all we have to do is to recognize that we have no time. NO time for this, no time for that, no time for maybes and definately no time to take a shit.
ONe can only imagine.
Is it possible that we've jumped. Already. Into the soup. From the bridge of no hope. Jumping. Already. Have. Jumped. Into. Soup. Bridge. Fading. Never. Not. Ever. Gone.? How or what is it to know? And in knowing is it real? What's real? Re? Al? R? E? A? L? Is hope real? Hope? Does my dog need hope or is he incapable of hopelessness? Is it capability that is to blame? As we are able we are damned? This is getting heavy, and maybe it is that we've jumped. No hope. Bridge. Already.?
Like the Iceman I too do love my brothers. However, unlike Iceman, I'm still employed. Kant pay my mortgage, but still employed.
Pollo, why do they call you chicken?
Already I'm regretting all the mistakes I'm likely to make, grammar is such a bore. Perhaps we'd be better off writing hieroglyphics in the snow with our piss, or in the dust for that matter and it just doesn't matter. What I'm getting on here is that I want attention, accolades, respect: tangibles, motherfuckers, tangibles. It's times like these that make me sneeze, and if the snot's sticky and green you must acquit! There's a difference between a bastard and your brother, but they both start with B. Big B, little b, what begins with B? That bastard brother of yourn's big brass balls. Fuckin' monkey.
There are those of us who choose to abstain from the most basic of excesses. Voting, playing the lottery, and engaging in senseless discussions on the topic of gay marraige. And there are those to whom excess is a way of life. I'm thinking Oso Blancos colonoscopy photos - FUCK!!!!!! It really is only just a matter of time, and if you think about it time is now. I mean we don't get older by the year or decade, we get older in the now...every second of every second fucking second. A gray hair appears instantly. Age happens now. Instant baldness. Instant karma. Instant coffee. Instantly instant for instance. So, then, perhaps all we have to do is to recognize that we have no time. NO time for this, no time for that, no time for maybes and definately no time to take a shit.
ONe can only imagine.
Is it possible that we've jumped. Already. Into the soup. From the bridge of no hope. Jumping. Already. Have. Jumped. Into. Soup. Bridge. Fading. Never. Not. Ever. Gone.? How or what is it to know? And in knowing is it real? What's real? Re? Al? R? E? A? L? Is hope real? Hope? Does my dog need hope or is he incapable of hopelessness? Is it capability that is to blame? As we are able we are damned? This is getting heavy, and maybe it is that we've jumped. No hope. Bridge. Already.?
Like the Iceman I too do love my brothers. However, unlike Iceman, I'm still employed. Kant pay my mortgage, but still employed.
Pollo, why do they call you chicken?
posted by CUZED at 9:39 AM
8 Comments:
Well said ed.
This is oso. I am in Alaska. gainfully unemployed. Today we caught 650 lbs of halibut. FU.
The sun is still out and it is 11:00pm. Mas y Mas cervesa.
Great catch man. We saw some freaky fish in a museum, but that's about it for the guay fish report.
I couldn't deal with the two foot eel used as bait, but damn, that's nothing compared to the cemetary expierience.
You were right Oso. The only thing missing was the dude shitting in the corner.
Cuz ed, let me know if you get any of that halibut. We may find ourselves on the upper red lake, freezing balls with oso blanco catching our limit of walleyes out of small holes in the Ice sooner than you think.
CuzEd,
they don't call me chicken, they call me Pollo...
oh yeah, and regarding the crispy lawn...a hungry chicken will eat just about anything
Oh year, they call you Pollo. Will a hungry Pollo eat just about anything too?
damn good question cuzEd..damn good....i suppose we must wait and see (in reference to your more recent comment on other post regarding waiting), however, waiting is grossly overrated
Refer to Dr. Suess´s book Öh The Places You´ll Go!¨
According to Suess, ¨the waiting place¨is the worst place one can be on life´s journey.
Gonna be a good boy tonight and go to bed early, where I will most likely have to wait to fall asleep.
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