And The Lord Spake Saying
"That woe is Diet Orange Soda as it is NOT the same as Regular."
Spake he further:
"Woe to those who do not treat others with compassion and empathy and acknowledgement for they are truly without compassion, empathy and acknowledgement...or something."
The Lord did continue Spaking:
"Lo, it is February 1. Thou hast made it through the first month of this our 2006th. This is cause for joy and revelling and drinking heavily in my name. Screw whomever told thee that thou hadst a problem.
It is my fervent wish and newly Dogmatic Law that thou dost go forth and do Karaoke and spread the Truth and the Way and the Beer!
And a pox on anyone who should dare get in your way."
Swear to God. That's exactly what He said.
Spake he further:
"Woe to those who do not treat others with compassion and empathy and acknowledgement for they are truly without compassion, empathy and acknowledgement...or something."
The Lord did continue Spaking:
"Lo, it is February 1. Thou hast made it through the first month of this our 2006th. This is cause for joy and revelling and drinking heavily in my name. Screw whomever told thee that thou hadst a problem.
It is my fervent wish and newly Dogmatic Law that thou dost go forth and do Karaoke and spread the Truth and the Way and the Beer!
And a pox on anyone who should dare get in your way."
Swear to God. That's exactly what He said.
posted by LC Greenwood at 1:12 PM
3 Comments:
Your soundtrack:
"Tremendous Brunettes" -
Mike Doughty & Dave Matthews
go.
And yet again, I am blown away by the insight of my friends. I must be doing something right.
Thanks Bollo!
The Lyrics...
Tremendous Brunettes
All them tremendous brunettes around
Slow down, don't fuck with my high
I want to be left alone here with my monsters and
Say, now it's time to ride
To see lovely girls and to not put the moves on them
Praise now the baby genius
She skips in the shade of the lonely sour apple tree
While she snaps on her gum
Her gleaming teeth bared and the shine that she shows to me
All of your ill-gotten gains
That you have whipped up to a rich, foamy lather, girl
Nameless gnaw of my pains
Like three hundred trumpets, and just one is out of tune
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