Being the buffalo *outside* the cave for once. Finally. Hmm?

Its so mean. Why make something that resonates with our tastes and desires, but put a cap on it, while retaining those tastes and desires? We all know that potato chips taste absolutely glorious, the aroma and the taste and the flavor and the wondrous divinity of the, um, taste, transcend us to a plane of mild pleasant disposition. But then we come to a point in our consumption where it starts to make us feel sick (not far beyond the point of getting a full tum-tum) but not removing our memory of how incredible the chips are. It is detrimental to our state of physical stuffs to keep eating them, but we find ourselves unable to stop. I should be fine now though, I moved them to the other side of the room.

I have a fish in the oven. No I dont, thats Salad Fingers. The boy has to reach for it while Salad Fingers pricks his finger on a nail and makes the red water come out, and he cannot thank him enough for reaching for the fish, which can only be done by that point. Thanks never happened, not to happen in the anti-happenstance. Didnt get a chance, he simply remarked on the fact that he couldnt thank him in the appropriate significant amount, but it wouldnt have gone astray to thank him in a limited capacity regardless of inadequacies. Tangent. Back to the thing thats not the tangent. The hypotenuse?

Not a fish in the oven, its a bowl of instant pudding in the fridge. I made it special for when I sit down watch a movie later, and I fear that with these chips at hand, I may ruin my appetite. I very like instant pudding; it tastes like the taste of scrumptiousness. Its not fair that something that brings pleasure (being the chips, not the holocaust) can bring discomfort. Like Al Pacino says in the Devils Advocate, God gives us things to be cruel because they dont work and are broken, without screws. Because screws enable things to be opened, and if they dont have screws, then they cannot be fixed.

The levels of water in the ceiling cause little concern, doesnt really matter due to very low levels anyway. Condensation. Its condensation. But the light from light bulbs would probably dry it anyway, like its own towel, it will towel that shit, right back to Tokyo. You know how much I like alliteration. That was distasteful, the holocaust should never be in the same sentence as pleasure, feelings and emotions are still raw. Theres nothing funny about Jewish deaths and suffering. They make very good bankers, stockbrokers and lawyers. They prove to be very useful. We should all go out and befriend a heeb.

My humor is topical. Wrist pants are not a practical item; I dont believe it will ever exist. Nobody would buy any, so that wouldnt justify marketing and production. Best to forget this whole idea. I was way off on the screws; Al Pacino called God an absentee landlord. I dont. I call him a mirage. When your out in the desert you are all hungry and thirsty so you see what you yearn for. Man is stupid and ignorant (not me, everyone else) and they subconsciously yearn for a leader, and combined with a trick of the light, stupid old mankind create this god. Losers.

I had me at hello, thats when I had me. I always win the race. If I was to race light, I would win. I realize that I could not possibly run faster than light with it being tops on the track, I could push it out of the way and it would fall over, it would then start crying. I suppose since darkness is like its enemy, or its counter-property, it would be nearby laughing and pointing. Saying how light was a stupid faggot piss-lips and a retarded ugly knob-chops.

I wonder how much a superman cape would cost. I want one, and then I could fly without using airlines. Unless I construct something on a plane involving mattresses and broomsticks. I shall call it the pants-palace. That would confuzzle all the authorities. They would be all like ooh, whats that. I would say that it was my pants-palace. They would then have no choice but to elect me for office, then I could get my bills and amendments passed. Who smells chicken?

Well I dont. Why would I ask it you may ask? Curious and I havent killed any cats. Except for the cat I murdered. I did kill that one. No I didnt, unless you count the one cat that I killed in self defense. It called me the King of the World. I assumed it was about to commit an act of political terrorism, so I had no choice but to ask it where it kept its weapons of mass destruction so I could confiscate them. Then I asked to inspect its chemical warehouses and missile silos. It chose the route of non-response, so I had no choice but to stab it with a door. Those doors will never wash clean.

That was Jim Morrisons secret. He knew. Double-meaning. Doors are a very good weapon for cat murders, and they never wash clean. But that doesnt matter, since the cats dying anyway; you can reuse the doors, since it doesnt matter if you cause an infection. No need for bacterial cleaners or Dettol, the cats already dead. Then you can eat its heart. With string beans.

I wonder what would happen if a guitar was stuck inside itself. Whoosh! II am a thinker of deep layers. For the record I have killed no cats. Or have I? I will leave that for the courts. But I choose to ignore my subpoena and flee the country for Mexico, so I can have T&B and Tequila. I will then return, after I overcome my case of food poisoning and hangover.

I imagine the world would explode (or implode, but what the HELL does that mean anyway?) since a guitar cannot be stuck inside itself the rules of paradox and turtles would be broken, except the turtles. Irrelevant. I wont eat green eggs and ham Sam I am. Thats not ignorance. Why would eggs and ham be green anyway? If its some sort of food coloring I suppose it would be alright, but COME ON. Its probably gone off. So you throw the cat inside the guitar, feed it the green food, and nail a door to it without breathing holes. It would probably start to stink. So buy some Glade air spray, market leaders they be.

I got my lawns mowed, due to no help from you ballerinas. You got burned. I ask for a lawnmower, and no one obliges. Just do that pirouette like you know how you little Nancy boy. Dance your little heart out tiny dancer.