mind if i open him up to check for bones?
there are no bones in there.
because you stole them!
whatever, knock yourself out.
i'm going to watch paint dry.
ok, unnamed floppy person, this won't hurt a bit ... probably.
well well well
hello there, carmine.
by Lliam Amor, Dan Beeston and the Goatlord.
©2009 Dan Beeston
Three holes in the ground,
For fuck's sake Dan, go practice your knife act somewhere else!
I don't believe, gentle(?) reader, I've ever imparted upon you the secret of time travel.
So, those of you with steely eyes who're still with me, listen closely. This will, most definitely (no relation to Ford Prefect), alter your perceptions of the "real world" irrevocably.
When I first discovered the art of time travel, I was, at first, amazed at its innocuous simplicity. The horror of realization then sunk in. Its simple simplicity shocked me to my very core (which was very unfortunate because, as any goatherd worth his salt could tell you, when a gooey substance (esp. those made from sugar and spice and all things motor oily) is shocked, a chain reaction of instantaneous donkey realizations occurs (anyone interested in a donkey realization, cheap, call me).
Foolishness aside, the realization, not of the misshapen equine variety but of time travel, came to me in a song.
A song titled Wanted Dead or Alive by those most classical of artists - Bon Jovi.
I am pressed for time (not really) so I shall cut to the chase. It is a complex song, full of hidden truths and social observances capable of bringing down the most oppressive of regimes. Of most import to us today though is the line:
"sometimes you tell the day by the bottle that you drink."
Powerful stuff, yes? People (read: drunks) have forever told their peers that they had merely "lost track of time" but now we know the truth. They have become Masters of Time and possibly even Space.
Simply put, if you had the precognitive ability (and/or the highest level of hindsight) to know what bottle you were to drink on any given day...
Yes, my mind is also blown (handy for the styling of one's hair in the "windswept" fashion those ladies and laddies of loose morals seem to favour).
So simple yet-
No, I'm not the crazy person here.
Well then, how else do you explain that you are reading this in September yet I am, amazingly nay AWESOMELY, writing this in August?