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Random Thoughts
2003-11-25 - 2:33 p.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

Michael Jackson is in his Las Vegas suite, screwing the bones of the elephant man.

"Whos the freak, whos the freak, whos the freak SHAMMON!!"

The bedroom alarm sounds as someone approaches down the hall.  12 year old boys scurry about the room and put their clothes on in a ballet of a well execised drill.

Jackson drinks a vial of blood from one of the many witchcraft ritual sacrifices made on his behalf with his money to curse and spite his enemies.  He believes it will return his vigor.  He answers the door.

"Telegram for Mr. Jackson,"  the courier intones.

Jackson grabs the paper and reads it.

Its a note from the government.  His low rent circus-like charade of pedophilia and child seduction has hit the skids.  Mr. Jackson will have to go to trial.

(a few years ago, I wrote a piece about how Jackson was incontrovertibly a pedophile.  A few people responded in their diaries and so forth, supporting him.  I feel vindicated, albeit at a horrible expense.  The villagers should have stormed the castle long ago and brought his head out on a pike.  Aloha.)

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I have been quoting 'Silence of the Lambs' at my cat, and it shows no sign of abating.

Its a long history of quoting that movie for me.  Pick up the phone when it rings and say in your best Hannibal Lector, "Hello, Clarice,"  and you'll know what I'm saying. 

Anyway, I've been grabbing the squirt bottle when he's someplace he should not be, and sqwuaking, "The kitty is bad, and gets the hose again.  Yes!  Kitty gets the hose!" 

Then I spray him down.  The sad thing is, I think the creature loves me to the point where he simply lets me spray him down, as if to say, "Oh, you want to hose me down again?  Okay."  And ends up making me feel sadistic.

Or maybe he's just passive-agressing me out. 

Either way, when I quote the movie at him, he just looks at me.

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Pulled into the drive through at the local Taco Bell and ordered my food as Christopher Walken.  Fucked 'em right up, which, considering they employ the mentally handicapped down at my local Taco Bell, is not a mean feat.  It is, however, kinda' funny.

"No...THANK-you...I...would like...three TA-co's...hard-SHELLED...Supreme's...and a steak...QUESADILLA...without jalpeno sauce."

"Okay...what was the first one?"

"Three...TA-cos...hard-SHELLED..."

"Uhm."

Just a little something to disturb the monotonous flow of life at times. 

And thus ends the random thoughts.


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