Shotgun

Here come ol' flat top. He come grooving up slowly....

I think I came up with a great idea. It involves a helmet, a box, and a feral cat. Nope, I already tried that when I was fourteen and that cat scratched the hell out of my friend afterward.

Bad idea.

I think I might have blogged this one before, but what the hell. So, you are out in the woods and doing some tree hugging with a bunch of tree huggers, because that is what they all do (right). You find, after hugging a bunch of live trees, that it is just not cutting it. You need something else. That is when a fallen sitka spruce calls to you, asphyxiated and lifeless. The experience is pure pleasure; a joy beyond measure: you, sir/mam have loved a dead tree. Does this make you sick?

I want answers, but I'm not getting any.

This is a phrase that I tend to use when I'm really, really disappointed: It feels (felt) like losing (I lost) it to a peg-legged whore. I think it will totally catch on.

I was talking to a friend today and actually tested out a post idea on said person and now I can't friggin' remember what it was.

Clowns became officially scary after prohibition. I can't explain it too well, but I think it had something to do with people being sober for a change (yeah, that happened). Once you wake up to the fact that clowns are amazingly horrifying it doesn't matter how much you drink after. Those bastards will come after you with their pointy hats and polka dotted outfits.

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.

Satan just wants me to be pancake eating champion of the world. I hear that fast women love pancake eating champions.

I saw a sign labeled "Discount Realty" and misread as "Discount Reality". It made more sense the first time I read it.

I still can't remember that thing I wanted to post about and it is bugging the hell outta me.