Enjoy the trailer (It’s the official one. I know-it’s very quirky of me to do anything officially. The official (I see a police badge) non-blonde dirty hairy in me always starts the calm sensible confrontation with “What The F##K” or “Who The F##K”, or You F##KING asshole, moron, idiot: You F##KING bowl of creamed on weenies. I write for the right to earn a paycheck by writing. Yentils still never ching ch ch ching started the smallest sand bucket around the country USA for my bullyshit. Penny’s why in the name of Jesus’ Mary, Okay stomping on other people’s kingdom here, I’m just going to call them marries. God, marriage and marries and mary’s and marred, I know people who crossed the threshold drunker than a marraed to a mary for little or know marries in the eyes of God. Next morning, the poor Mrs. Mary now as the gentleman-alpha male tried to quit his deluxe sweet-hell–well Mrs. Mary finally used her batting swing with her five-year old’s tee-ball bat on alpha was man now with domestic issues. Now alpha dog tried to creep into invisibility. Mrs. Mary saw the pretty penis and pointed while she laughed hysterically, because she knew his big chock that he slapped her with the night after the ceremony she raised with two hands like a cucumber on dirty rain.
http://youtu.be/rcx8FomqDVo Tool song with lyrics. All I will say is that it is an older song. I almost cried, because the point of the song, the meaning, rather, now is moot. It’s almost trite. God this sucks.
(Yawn.) Hey guys. I just woke up like an hour ago. Sometimes I write while other stuff occurs (I shall say.)
Oh, I hate westerns because the alpha male always “saves” the day. That’s why it’s a genre special and to me dumb. It’s the least expected out you, me and the person in front of you (at the Cleaners, Movies, Coffee shop, Nut house store, College Pub, Bar, Game shop, Barber, and usually it’s not the person who has access to a weapon.) I say to the brave citizens who help me breath one more second in this life–Cool to the P for the personified. Do you mind: I’d like to say a prayer for the people who I know are ripping up their stories, or shredding them into strips of differing diameter, a page, ten pages or chunks at a time by signing on a dotted line. A line that lied to each one, and encouraged each guy or gal to give up on hope because hope no longer shined on their address. Go into the Lion den, men and women alike, it burns and sizzles in there, but for a non-profit drug cartel feeding starving babies in Guatemala–give us your last donation…