Waiting for the inevitable psychotic break that will be the peanut butter to my jellylike brain.
This morning my alarm went off and it was inexplicably tuned into the local craptacular pop station (KDWB for those in the Mpls area). I won’t go into my rant about how much I hate morning shows and how my vision of hell includes non-stop morning show style broadcasts. The main guy, Dave Ryan, was going on and on about the Backstreet Boys and how wonderful they are. I have never heard a man get so cum-soaked over a boy band before.
You could tell that he totally hated the band but was forced to slobber over them due to his contractual obligations to Satan.
After that they got into a somewhat heated discussion about Eminem and his validity as an artist. They went on to compare him to Renee Cox and her current scandal causing exhibit in New York (Yo Mama’s Last Supper).
Both may be offensive to different groups for different reasons but only one will move people to violence (namely me against silly bad-ass wannabes with goofy hair).
My life is like a
sweet little tangerine with
neat juicy segments
Zognar lives in a secret hovel near the copier.
When someone comes to use the copier he rushes out and bashes his 37 inch titanium dick into the copier.
I have never seen Zognar.
I know he is there because I hear loud banging and crashing and when I look there is only a perplexed looking student or professor staring at the machine as it howls in anger at them.
Some might suggest that perhaps Zognar doesn’t exist and perhaps the damage done is the student’s fault, but I fail to see how anyone who was not a certifiable sociopath could cause so much damage to one machine.