Stirring the pot

Tempus fucking fugit people. What to do with these precious days? How to stop life from SLIPPING through my fingers...

OMG people, how PENSIVE am I these days? I'm like bitter and brooding Nicholas Cage as the one-handed, broken-hearted baker in Moonstruck... or it's like I'm effing KEATS or some shit, about to succumb to tuberculosis, writing an ode to doughnut madness. 

Sigh. I feel ya, buddy. Sometimes it seems like we're ALL trying to claw our way out of that doughnut, gasping for breath, covered in sweet creamy filling and feeling about as low as is humanly possible.

Buck up! I'm here to tell you there's better stuff out there.

And its about to get REAL up in here- TROUBADOR PANTS style. It's gonna roam the countryside, sleeping in barns and having its way with farm girls while eating mutton off the bone (dirty) and sitting by open fires, spinning a melodic yarn that is sure to figure heavily in folkloric oral tradition (omg *so* dirty).

Teeee heee heee. 'Troubador Pants'. I SO crack myself up. 

And in other good news, I finally got this whole 'pound of flesh' thing worked out!

Bwaaaahahahaha! Just kidding! It's not ALL mine!  I collected it from other people, silly! I got the idea from this totally dullsville Pacino film where he plays this guy named Skylark and wears cray- cray hats... weird, eh?

But fuck it, right? When all is said and done, it's all about the LEGACY we leave, and I want mine to be shit hot, 90s tapered chinos, oddly spiked punch and a fever for the flavour of ROCK. It's the music in my heart, people:

Full disclosure: I think I'm in fucking LOVE people. Fingers crossed I'm gonna be there Summer Tour 2008. Fuck the J-O-effing-B.

and I'm out.