kim chi

Kim chi.

That’s the reason I’mma work on farms for the rest of my life.  Acquisition of property will be a sort of death, but whatever.  I’ll grow me tons of kim chi.  I’ll live on that shit.

I have made perhaps 3 batches in my life, and suggest as much for your own kitchen.  I don’t even have those recipes on my site, do I.  Fuck.  What if everyone did what I did?  We’d be done already.  Can we be done.  Aren’t we.

I should go online and I should take a shower.  My feet ache.  My back aches.  I have paint spattered over one arm, my face, beard, and sweatshirt.  That’s the thing, see, I don’t see myself fitting into the machine, at all.  Anywhere.  I’m a freak in cities full of ‘em.  My neck.  Please rub my neck, however.  Yes, that.

I think I can even add a few x’s to these pants.  No, they’re seating.  Yeah.  Plant your taint as close to that spot as you can muster.  Fuck, bring two friends.  I never met a chaperone I couldn’t hit on.  What?  Such a crybaby, though.  Fuck you.  So.

I got beans soaking, but I’m too tired to cook ‘em.  Look, I don’t fucking care what anyone thinks of the music that makes me shake my ass.  I figure one or two are gonna admit that they like how I shake my ass, whatever music it is.  Then, the fans will roll downhill.  No, that’s a power generator.  Idea.  Proposal.  Poop.  Sawdust from the snow will mix with the poops and assorted biomasses, worms, fish guts?  For fuck yeah fish guts.  Sawdust and worms, worms, worms.  Poop and fish guts and worms.  There must be a way to cook fish guts to edible.  Boiled sack a chum!  Gross.  Use a jar.

How about I see who has the best place, and then we all crash there.  Yes?  Whatever.  Fine, I’ll be over here posting the same 50,000 wikipedia entries to my fucking blog over and over and over.  That should be fun.  Awareness building.  Dig for yourself.  Until you’re satisfied.

There are probably enough songs on my blog to make an album, no?  Nobody wants to hear that.  Some might, dick.

He was lamenting to me inability to practice.  So don’t practice.  Just play.  Soon, I’ll be playing for my vittles.

Take me home, pretty lady.  Let us share are bodies with some perverts I met on the interwebs.  No.  Well, not required.  I can help with dinner, do some dishes, help your kids with their homework, and fuck ya a whole bunch of different ways, if ya like.  I would like.

It’s pouring.  I’m going downstairs to watch.  It’s ten to 2 am.

2:35 am.  Sleeps.

It’s called back-dating.  I dunno.  I wasn’t ready to post it yet.  I have three more.  chill out, please?  It’s only five days late.

Miss u,

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-04-10 (Sunday).

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