Bloatulence

This weekend I've been wallowing in my own filthy sloth like some sort of Jabba the Hut-sort-of-piglike-greasy-pusbag bastard. Too bad I ran out of play money last night or I'd be out right now at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Sunday in the bar swilling beer and chomping pizza. If I were a girl, I'd be one of those girls that girls hate. The fatful diet doesn't seem to affect my physique too terribly. My weight fluctuates no more than ten pounds in either direction. Lucky-fuckin'-me!

I gotta get on the jazz tomorrow. Time to start pulling this metal shop thing together. It's a lotta crazy crap but it starts to make sense when you crack the books.
The goal is to be one of those snooty artists who's clientele begs to be worthy of buying my crap.
It's all about the hype. If I can just get the guy who says what's cool to say my stuff is cool, then I'm in no matter what I do.

Oh, the sweet, sweet time! Time to dream, to get it together, to listen to the roses.
It's good to be born