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Thursday, June 02, 2005
Smokes vs. Women: The Final Conflict I've taken up smoking on a semi-regular basis now. This is due in part to the break-up, several weeks ago, of someone I work with and his just-getting-serious girlfriend. This rendering of his soul in twain left him with little or no optimism, and he started smoking again. When he was thirteen he started smoking in school, and he got up to half a pack a day, but then he quit. The break-up started it all again. So over our morning smoke he says, "Dave, girls are nothing but trouble," and I can't help but agree, since he's supplying the cigarettes. But once thought over, the positives of nicotine do tend to outweigh the positives of relationships. Faithfulness, dependability, comfort, recreation, all of these things make up a successful relationship, and when one or more goes awry, the relationship is then what is known as "on the rocks." Never on the rocks is such a relationship with nicotine. So folks, we have a new grand champeen. In Memory of Petey [Dave] Time:6:45 PM Sunday, May 29, 2005
Long long ago, in China I'm told.. It's been so long since I've posted here that I actually could not remember my user name and password for this blog. Once remembered, I logged right in to come and write something up. In The Days of Lore, this blog was a mighty power with sword flashing and banner caught high in the Spring breeze. Mighty and fresh of heart was he, his face showed no sign of worry and the wrinkles of laughter were already marked on his young face. The blood of his foes - old ladies, mostly - was the stain of his iniquity, but his heart was true and the light thereof made blind the amassing lady-folk to his darkness. In deed, he was both at once light and dark and this was what made him such a valiant warrior. It was because of his bravery, his truth, his heart that he went on no matter the rebuke - but it was his darkness that might ultimately have lost him that most important thing of all - a readership. In time, but, his arms no longer moved so swiftly and his feet did not carry him so far. Grey upon a head once graced with Raven-black hair was showing beneath an helm rusted with a thousand years. These arms, these legs that did not move him and did not swing his righteous sword soon became more weak and more feeble until at last he could not bear himself up against his foes. First one, then another, then yet another blade pierced his dimly glowing heart and he was made to give up the ghost. So legend has it of those days, but there is among you now a cult who does not believe this tale. They believe the brave Warrior known as W. F. Word will rise again when his legs find once again their strength and his arms are once again filled with the senew of righteousness. What say you, fuckers? Shall we give this old blog a jumpstart and refresh the memories of our fanbase on just how great we really are? In Memory of Petey [Steven] Time:9:31 AM |
