| Monday |
| Last night I went to a concert. Offered for consumption in
several catagories were a wide range of goods. Illicitly offered were:
Beer (2 dollars a can US). Also in case you forgot: YOUR MAMA. and: MY CRACKBABIES My crackbabies dance wildly about my head, a glowing halo of gray-green skin, shrieking and scampering through space, leaving trails of neon yellow fecal globes, slowly orbiting. A whirl of pasty wrinkled flesh whipping past my eyes faster and faster until the babies finally crash. When my crackbabies crash they crash hard, their shrivelled husks lay at my feet, mewling weakly. "Wee-ee-e-eee-ee Ne-eeee-e-e-ee-dd-d-d th-th-the v-vialllllllssssss...." I love my crackbabies. If you would like to hear more about the adventures of my crackbabies, or would like a picture of my crackbabies. You can contact us. Until Tuesday.....
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| Tuesday |
| Didn't do a ding dang darn thing today. Let's see what the rest of the world is up to.
STATUS:
MY CRACKBABIES
Today my crackbabies spent the day in the gutter begging for change and pissing on each other for sport. The tourists and businessmen walked their appointed
paths in life, barely aware of my crackbabies, only stopping to crush their tiny skulls underfoot when occasionally splashed by the steaming urine of the festering horde. Five crackbabies lost their pitiful grip on life in this manner. The nourishment their tortured bodies gave to the mass were a brave sacrifice. Even
now the crackbabies are freebasing using the dented cranium of their fallen brethren. Oh won't the lessons of Richard Pryor ever be learned?! "Hell no bitch!" Gotta love them crackbabies! Until Wednesday... |
| Wednesday |
| Today I spent the day pondering the monetary system
we've become bogged down in. For example, I have a few things we
NEED to buy and some other things I just kinda
want to buy. I can't afford any of these things. This revelation comes
despite the fact that I was given responsibilities at work of an increased importance.
This even included the ritual bestowal of keys. Beyond the depressing nature of working
in a basement with no windows, time passed quickly for the keeper of the crackbabies, let's check up on them shall we? MY CRACKBABIES Today my crackbabies made stew. The brothy flavor of dead squirrel boiling in filthy water drew the hags out of their crevices and into the crackhouse. Many a scab-covered whore found herself face to face with an angry crackbaby bent on his rat-meat's protection. Woe befell more than one of the hapless creatures in a mob battle for meat that raged into the wee hours of the morning, goodwill spike heels vs. the shards of a broken pipe, the resounding thud of a crackbaby headbutt against the toothless jaw of a shrieking street-harpy, and the scraping of encrusted claws on slack clammyskin echoed through the night. Score: crackbabies- 27 wenches- 6. Until Thursday... |
| Thursday |
| Today's narrative postponed due to stress. Until Friday... |
| Friday |
| Woke up today in a good mood, steadily had my day go bad.
I should have known this would happen when I started humming "inna-gadda-da-vida" to myself at around 10 this morning. Things went downhill from there. Now
I feel like there's something living in my large intestine and it's either gonna blow it's way out my ass or it's gonna burrow out through my bellybutton (navel). I did however learn some things today:
The number 8 is good luck for chinese people.
Alot of chinese businesses like the new 888 toll-free numbers.
Snow is bad for Germans.
Eli can speak spanish well enough to get beer from mexicans. Friday night is crackbaby party night. My crackbabies are gonna get LIT. To this end they have scrounged enough change together to purchase 1 gallon of wine, on a per baby basis this is enough to get a good buzz, and no doubt they will be augmenting their altered states with the worshipped needle and holy pipe. The gibbering and cavorting will be reported on tomorrow morning while the crackbabies recover from their stupor. My ass is gonna explode so I can't stay to describe more. Until Saturday... |
| Saturday |
| SPECIAL GUEST WRITER A girl wrote this. Went to a hippie fest. The music was okay- well 2 out of 10 bands were okay but there were too many hippies- old and young. New hippies almost suck more than old ones. Especially the new hippie girls that wear pieces of material tied around their chests with shoelaces. It's a smock/apron/shirt/dress thing. It does nothing. Doesn't hold the boobs in place- they just hang. The material is just long enough that you don't have to see a pair of saggy boobs hitting the dirty pudgy belly of a hippie. It's a dumb look. I think it's an attempt to be attractive and sexy, but even hippie males find it gross. Hippies Suck. CRACKBABIES: They hate the hippies too. They hate 'em because they have the money to buy the drugs yet they waste it on smoking grass and eating fungus. The crackbabies were quite upset on saturday. Too many people smokin' weed and not enough smoking crack. The crackbabies were offered a variety of drugs, but no crack. This made them more sad. They took a long nap in the dumpster. They would find crack the next day. Until Sunday.... |
| Sunday |
| Sunday was spent recovering from saturday. Lazy afternoon hours wasted away in conversation about booby aprons and the chronic lack of furniture in the life
of yours truly. Truly an epicenter of languid, numbing boredom was located
near my house today. That night we went to a bar with MY CRACKBABIES: My crackbabies spent a few hours tonight trying to learn the fine art of darts. The fact that their drug addled neurons can no longer work together long enough to calculate the necessary trajectories didn't seem to hinder their enthusiasm. Although shooting them full of crystal meth beforehand couldn't have hurt either. To make a long boring story a short boring story, we drove home with a backseat full of bloody crackbabies, and I've learned how to treat puncture wounds. Until Monday... |
| Monday |
| I took a nap monday. Until Tuesday... |
| Tuesday |
| On tuesday I learned Churchill bribed spain to stay out of World War II, I got some furniture, I got sick of writing this part of this stupid page and there'll be no more until you kids shut up and settle down goddamnit! I'll turn this page around and go straight back home and you can just sit in the basement all summer and kill flys like you usually do! Don't test me! |
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