Life's a bitch and...
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Ms. BA,
Both.
The poodle in the circus twirling precariously on its hind legs on a bar stool, fueled by the operant conditioning that links the decibel level of the applause to the number of doggie treats. Make a mistake and slip...NO TREATS FOR YOU!....
and;
Shit happens. To all of us. In time. If it hasn't really happened to you yet, it will. It's coming. Shit is on the way. Oh, I'm not talking about the anquish of the break-up with a first love, or the heartbreak of psoriasis. I'm talking megashit...bucket loads released in torrents that nearly drown you. And these are the defining moments of character that becomes the core of who we are. How have you handled the trainload of shit that rained down upon you, and your loved ones, like there was no tomorrow? For it is within the handling of large volumes of fecal matter that we define who we are.
And if this post seems ludicrous to you, or a bit over the top, then put on your seatbelt baby, because the manure train is just ahead, and it is about to derail right in your lap. Clearly, this last line has been influenced by the return of A Rope Leash. Consider it my homage to the great one of little faith. But, dammit, just like a carwreck at the "Y" of the 5 and the 405, I always stop to take a closer look everytime he posts. Hmmm, life is a bitch.
It works on many levels. Metaphysical Feces and Self Esteem...a Retrospective, longitudinal autobiography. Double-blind. No placebo. Just the facts , Ma'am. Just the facts.
And for teh record, Oh great Mr. Rope, I do not drink. However, sniffing glue remains a problem. But im wurken onn it,
Respect.
Both.
The poodle in the circus twirling precariously on its hind legs on a bar stool, fueled by the operant conditioning that links the decibel level of the applause to the number of doggie treats. Make a mistake and slip...NO TREATS FOR YOU!....
and;
Shit happens. To all of us. In time. If it hasn't really happened to you yet, it will. It's coming. Shit is on the way. Oh, I'm not talking about the anquish of the break-up with a first love, or the heartbreak of psoriasis. I'm talking megashit...bucket loads released in torrents that nearly drown you. And these are the defining moments of character that becomes the core of who we are. How have you handled the trainload of shit that rained down upon you, and your loved ones, like there was no tomorrow? For it is within the handling of large volumes of fecal matter that we define who we are.
And if this post seems ludicrous to you, or a bit over the top, then put on your seatbelt baby, because the manure train is just ahead, and it is about to derail right in your lap. Clearly, this last line has been influenced by the return of A Rope Leash. Consider it my homage to the great one of little faith. But, dammit, just like a carwreck at the "Y" of the 5 and the 405, I always stop to take a closer look everytime he posts. Hmmm, life is a bitch.
It works on many levels. Metaphysical Feces and Self Esteem...a Retrospective, longitudinal autobiography. Double-blind. No placebo. Just the facts , Ma'am. Just the facts.
And for teh record, Oh great Mr. Rope, I do not drink. However, sniffing glue remains a problem. But im wurken onn it,
Respect.
"The smarter mysteries are hidden in the light" - Jean Giono (1895-1970)
- Gillibeanz
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