I kinda feel I am posting too much. All you people reading this who are sick of reading my stupid dialog, post a comment. Really. It's what the internet was made for.
The internet is just a mode of communication. Nothing more. As of yet. But I have put a moratorium upon jacking-off to pictures from the internet. I just feel lousy afterwards, because instead of lighting a cigarette, I gently shut my CPU down. The only time I felt more emasculated was after my bris in the eighth grade talent show. I came in third, there were other jews . . . but I just didn't have the chutzpah.
Just so you know, because the inquiring mind WANTS TO KNOW, I went and got myself circumcised about a month ago. You know, I was tired of girls being like, "Aww, that's too much cock in my face!" or more commonly, "Cut me some slack, papa, and learn to move it . . . garbanza!"
Sex feels good, but you're just making more problems, ladies and germs. I wish I could tell you that propagation is a needed thing on this planet right now, because it's rutting season for you, but the world don't need no more babies. Just adopt, even as a part-time parent you are better than no parent, just fucking adopt. There are too many kids, and too few parents.

Okay, back into happyland, our picture that makes no fucking sense is right HERE ------------------->



So what's going on tonight, people? I am asking you tonight, what is bliss? And does it resemble a prison when you step away and look at it? You know, when you put your foot in another persons shoe. Because that happens all the time at your karate classes. So you're in your car that needs repairs, and you need gas. You approach the plexiglass window and pay for twenty bucks worth of petrol to fill up your jalopy. The courtesy clerk announces that your bill is a counterfit bill, and you get no gas and no change. You become flummoxed.

To shove your snub-nose 45. through the teller window and get that twenty bucks back, turn to page 89

To remember your karate teachers wisdom, "No hooky, no nookie" turn to 112

Kill me, kill me now! I don't want to live forever, looked upon as a misfit, all the while . . . serving the public good. A travisty, I say!
Man the hatches!
Boon my docks!



These stupid whales, who be calling themsleves people, are endlessly cutting me off in lane traffic. That's an 'in joke' as they say in the trade. See, I don't drive. Wah- whaaa.
Okay, I am writing to nobody, in no real context, {the web} with no fixed goal/result. What will happen? Sing, bird, sing!
Kick out the jams,
Falafel, til midnight,
Yours truly in hebrew,
Lari