i believed you when you said you had never cried so hard as the day the police took you grandmother away | but it was not her crop of illicit hallucinogens that had been discovered it was the birthday boys | i wonder if the police had been waiting to make the arrest surely it was no coincidence they showed up on your eighteenth birthday | they probably thought they were so clever right up until your grandmother claimed responsibilty | it was the last birthday present you got from her fuck you billy bob! | such a shame she also died in prison tried to get friendly with the wrong inmate yes | her death has been your biggest life lesson though if you tell someone how you really feel they will stab you to death with a sharpened toothbrush | she was found with a makeshift garrotte of used tampon strings around her neck. i stand corrected |
by Lliam Amor, Dan Beeston and the Goatlord.
©2009 Dan Beeston
Necessity is the mother of all invention but ... really?
Probably so, yes.
At any rate, when the zombies attack, I know where I'll be recruiting drill sergeants for the attritional urban war.
In other news:
My request for a government grant to buy you all widescreen monitors failed. Soz :-(
There's just no appreciation for art in its correct aspect ratio anymore.
Although, I've often wondered if Seurat's "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" would be as intense if viewed outside of the context of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
See you all Monday.