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Well:
Good morning!
Last night I went to a concert with my girlfriend and my ears are still full of cottage cheese. It's like I've got a seashell clamped against the right side of my face. fwooooooooosh. Well, not that bad, really. But all those o's were fun to write.
The offer to add commenters to the blog: momentous! Kevin, I know you want a sweet piece of that glazed ham.
. . .
Now:
Of all you people, only Bunny wanted to see King Kong with me. This is like a bear is driving: how can this be? But ah well. Ah well. I'll wait till I'm unemployed, then go jockey a theater seat at noon on a Tuesday and watch a giant ape rip up town.
I tried to go ice skating a few weeks back with Sarah. Did I write about this already? Anyway, we got to the damn rink and there were little girls everywhere, in little dresses, and the speakers were playing the classical track that asks the question, just who did let those damn dogs out? Man, it was scary. Scary. I don't even remember how many bodily fluids I released at once.
But, because I've never gone and because I will do just about anything to make a girl in eyeliner and a plaid skirt happy and because it just might involve seeing Amish try to manipulate a pair of feetblades, I'm going again tonight. With Goathead, no less. And Shannon. And Goathead's girlfriend. So if you're interested, which I know is unlikely, feel free to comment and you can join.
KEVIN.
Was that too obvious to be a subliminal
KEVIN
message?
KEVIN.
I will likely be here Saturday night, and available. By which I mean, you can buy me for sex. Sarah's going to Cedar Falls to take care of some devil psych research involving unwilling subjects and her "Insanity Machine," and Goathead's going back to Hellrose, and with Bunny and Ryan at the bar I will be left as Lord of Le Chateau. Maybe we could install secret passagesways or robotic limbs or tank treads or something.
Good morning!
Last night I went to a concert with my girlfriend and my ears are still full of cottage cheese. It's like I've got a seashell clamped against the right side of my face. fwooooooooosh. Well, not that bad, really. But all those o's were fun to write.
The offer to add commenters to the blog: momentous! Kevin, I know you want a sweet piece of that glazed ham.
. . .
Now:
Of all you people, only Bunny wanted to see King Kong with me. This is like a bear is driving: how can this be? But ah well. Ah well. I'll wait till I'm unemployed, then go jockey a theater seat at noon on a Tuesday and watch a giant ape rip up town.
I tried to go ice skating a few weeks back with Sarah. Did I write about this already? Anyway, we got to the damn rink and there were little girls everywhere, in little dresses, and the speakers were playing the classical track that asks the question, just who did let those damn dogs out? Man, it was scary. Scary. I don't even remember how many bodily fluids I released at once.
But, because I've never gone and because I will do just about anything to make a girl in eyeliner and a plaid skirt happy and because it just might involve seeing Amish try to manipulate a pair of feetblades, I'm going again tonight. With Goathead, no less. And Shannon. And Goathead's girlfriend. So if you're interested, which I know is unlikely, feel free to comment and you can join.
KEVIN.
Was that too obvious to be a subliminal
KEVIN
message?
KEVIN.
I will likely be here Saturday night, and available. By which I mean, you can buy me for sex. Sarah's going to Cedar Falls to take care of some devil psych research involving unwilling subjects and her "Insanity Machine," and Goathead's going back to Hellrose, and with Bunny and Ryan at the bar I will be left as Lord of Le Chateau. Maybe we could install secret passagesways or robotic limbs or tank treads or something.
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