...filled with all types of condiments.
i want a jenny i want a potato salad!
OH FUCK is potato salad healthy? because this stuff, this potato salad from the place now known inexplicably as "avi's pita," (run by haitan folks in the same room as a blimpies; "avi's" was once known as "top grill," & they mostly have baked chicken & sides. in fact, only have) is BRIGHT RED. could potato salad be giving me CANCER? or HIV? it could happen, i think i've seen something about it on HELP ME HOWARD. oh man the thrill of danger is making this day all the sweeter! NOW IF I COULD GET A SHOUT OUT FROM MY BOO JENNY, THINGS WOULD BE TRES COPACETIC. that is a little french for y'all. oh man i have cancer now but it was worth it. worth every penny.
i want to write the screenplay for hemmingway's "for sale: baby shoes..." story.
don't get me riled up!
when i was done deducing a unified theory of magic, the evil forest ekatarina came along with a boquet of wickedness in tow. we made like anti-christs with the wine; jug & two giant bottles for starters. the man at jfk's chicken made a funny impersonation of a russian woman! he was baba yaga you betcha! to then katja & i "hung out." i read some conan the barbarian stuff, she fooled around on the computer. i sure like that sweet pea! finally then, jenny came home! i was missing her pretty fierce. all foul things lurking in the cobbled streets of brooklyn skitter away when she comes out to play! she's the queen of this kind of jungle, i've discovered. so we fed her beer, & the three of us laid upon the couch. i was a mack daddy! eventually the time came to bottle the faerie! say goodbye to the wine, & to katja, for we are sending it in a black package into manhattan. taxi cabs are like stealth bombers, i figure. you never know what one will discharge. you hear me gotham! number one...with a bullet!
now the guys at jfk chicken are my friends, so when i order spinach rolls, i get 'em!
fade, oh embers, but know that no matter how dim a smolder, i will remember your warmth. how dim a soldier, i will remember your birth. this lonely fucking head i've got can't help it, even long after the worm has ceased to struggle on the hook. but put that aside, set that within the glass jar of the wallachia engine & take up your coronet, oh prince! we will sing you a dirge & play the organ music as you ascend towards heaven to do battle! oh mordicai, don't you worry your handsome little head, your crooked widow's peak, your dirty mind. 's cool, 's cool, man. i know everybody has their own shit to take care of, & that my "total war on heaven without quarter" line has got to go stale, fast. i don't hold you against it. or i mean, hold it against you. this knife i might hold against you, this wall i might hold you against. but blame is for those intrested in guilt, which i'm not. but i'm very, very intrested. i'm your classic villain. i've got this agenda, see...