ok the fact that i actually sat there and watched it for as long as I did is just a representation of the fact that I can give my undivided attention to something.....now, the fact that it was this retarted faceshot miriage makes me a lil sick to my stomach...theres 5 minutes I'll never get back!
Very well, where should I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims, like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. A sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical; summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. If I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds. Pretty standard, really.
4 Comments:
Kind of creepy. But I sort of like it.
3:04 PM
ok the fact that i actually sat there and watched it for as long as I did is just a representation of the fact that I can give my undivided attention to something.....now, the fact that it was this retarted faceshot miriage makes me a lil sick to my stomach...theres 5 minutes I'll never get back!
Thanks Kaila
11:33 AM
i like it. too bad he never smiles.
4:22 PM
Is it just me or did he start to look sad and tired the last couple years of that?
Musta got a job.
9:45 AM
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