You forgot your rag bag in your sixty-nine sedan...
OK, so Wil Wheaton's got this pretty cool web site; and on
it he's got little sections promoting what to read, watch
and listen to. I need to put something like that on ym web
site, mainly to encourage people to listen to Snake River
Conspiracy. No one knows who this fucking band is.
I do need to work on the web site though. It's still
sucking ass. I've got this idea to put up pics of various
hot goth chicks, like Wynona in Bettlejuice, and then maybe
have a seperate section for the local goth hotties in the
So, it's spring break this week, of course, it's lost all
meaning for me. Entering the working world has pretty much
been one constant ass fuck after another. I'm suprised it
took as long as it did for someone to express their
consumate anger for society as done in Fight Club. I sit
in a sad little cubicle for eight hours a day, sometimes
more, doing what. Punching fucking keys on a key board.
As Randall once said "fucking monkeys could do our job."
I've come to realize that: only they don't, because it's so
much more fun to torture humans as opposed to animals. And
I guess everyone's afraid that whole Planet of the Apes
things might actually happen.
Watched Ghost World again this past weekend, before loaning
it to a friend. The movie kicks ass, but what the fuck
really happens at the end? If the bus really doesn't come
anymore, where does she go?
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