Something wicked, something wild, something simple, something mild; Thoughtless people, purple pie, listen people, to my tale: life so easy can be dull, boring stories left to tell.
It's like plowing through granite to break into those deep realms of originality. Blurbs on nothingness tickle lightly off my tongue sans substancy. Searching, searching, searching.
Navel quixotically quizzical. End of report.
Posted by Tiger at April 4, 2005 11:13 PM