chronicles for the clinicly insane
2003-04-01 02:42:40 (UTC)

wo est mien auto

As I sit here devouring my own soul, or maybe simply my
sanity, or possibly even something so trivial as my human
descency. I tend to wonder exactly why I bother. I dont
even know exactly what it is to "bother", but I do know
that I tend to do it quite often, and usually (to my utmost
shegrin)the results are somewhat comical in a sad "oh look
at the poor fat stoner guy" clubbed baby seal sort of way.

Anyway to get to the heart of the matter. Friday I was
drivinge my little green monster around while coming down
from the days recent activities consisting of pot, pot,
pot, and a rousing game of "NO YOU PUT YOUR GUN DOWN" with
the local law enforcement. At least thats how I remember
it. So as bees are buckets I was driving down the road
when all of a sudden Mush Head uttered these words of
wisome " hey man don't hit that rock", except his advice
was somewhat moronic considering a swerve in either
direction would have resulted in mush head's, flying Lyle's
and my untimely demise, either by a large truck or an
indegenous evergreen. I was therefore forced to chose the
lesser of three evils the rock. Or in my case a small
fuckin boulder.

When all was said and done, I was left with two bent rims,
a bruised wallet, and the sudden and strong urge to kill
don knots. I dont know why but it seemed right at the time.

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