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I try to keep my subject lines to lyrics from songs that are either in my head or that I remember when I have to write subject lines. This subject is from a song on U2's album 'Zooropa' called "The Wanderer." It's sung by Johnny Cash. It's a great song and I haven't heard it in a while. I wish I could type all the lyrics out, but I value your time and patience, so I won't do it. I just thought I'd let you know that I'd like to hear that song again some time.
Talk about uncharacteristic, I didn't go out drinking at all this weekend. Which is to say I didn't drink or go out to an establishment in which drinks were being served. Which is to say I didn't come home too drunk for my own good. Which is to say I didn't freeze my ass of for the sake of idiocy. Which is to say I didn't wake up hungover and sick. Which is to say I didn't see superficial people that pretend to have never met me before and look away as soon as my eyes catch theirs. Which is to say, aside from being really stoned, I had a clear head for the whole weekend. I plan on keeping this up for a while, but it'll probably turn to shit when the weather gets warmer, as the cold nights are...
Rather than finish a paragraph I didn't even feel like writing, I'll switch gears here and talk about this dog we have in our house now. Sharifa came back to Geneseo from Buffalo with an old Rotweiller. Damned if I know where it came from and damned if you think I'm going to tell you the supposed story of its origin. Damned if it isn't the most depressed dog I've ever seen. The thing is miserable. He taken quite a liking to me, and I to he, but I can't stand to see this dog live in a state of misery. The best course of action to take would be to hand it over to the humane society, but what have they done for me lately? Besides, we bought so much shit for this beast: food (20 bucks), a leash (7 bucks), biscuits (6 bucks), etc. I think we should at least keep it until the bag of food is done, or the biscuits, whichever comes first. Hopefully it'll live that long. Hopefully it'll be alive when I get back to the homestead. Hopefully there won't be dog shit all over the place.
I've taken the animal for about 5 walks since yesterday and the fucker hasn't shat once. He was expelling the rankest farts last night. Absolutely unbearable smells were emitted. I tried moving away from it, but it followed me wherever I went and farted all over me. Talk about loyal.
And the word on the street is that Rotweillers are unpredictable animals. They'll be friends one minute and your worst enemy the next. From the looks of this dog, it couldn't hurt a flea (rimshot). I try to act as calmly as possible around it, as dogs supposedly smell fear, but the thought of it randomly ripping off my face because of a simple misunderstanding, well, the thought is always in the back of my mind.
In closing, there is a picture of me on the AOPi website over the caption "Party with the Phigs." It's funny because of the faces being made and the fact that I'm not a Phig. It can be found here: Pink is Where it's At!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. (scroll down a bit)
Talk about uncharacteristic, I didn't go out drinking at all this weekend. Which is to say I didn't drink or go out to an establishment in which drinks were being served. Which is to say I didn't come home too drunk for my own good. Which is to say I didn't freeze my ass of for the sake of idiocy. Which is to say I didn't wake up hungover and sick. Which is to say I didn't see superficial people that pretend to have never met me before and look away as soon as my eyes catch theirs. Which is to say, aside from being really stoned, I had a clear head for the whole weekend. I plan on keeping this up for a while, but it'll probably turn to shit when the weather gets warmer, as the cold nights are...
Rather than finish a paragraph I didn't even feel like writing, I'll switch gears here and talk about this dog we have in our house now. Sharifa came back to Geneseo from Buffalo with an old Rotweiller. Damned if I know where it came from and damned if you think I'm going to tell you the supposed story of its origin. Damned if it isn't the most depressed dog I've ever seen. The thing is miserable. He taken quite a liking to me, and I to he, but I can't stand to see this dog live in a state of misery. The best course of action to take would be to hand it over to the humane society, but what have they done for me lately? Besides, we bought so much shit for this beast: food (20 bucks), a leash (7 bucks), biscuits (6 bucks), etc. I think we should at least keep it until the bag of food is done, or the biscuits, whichever comes first. Hopefully it'll live that long. Hopefully it'll be alive when I get back to the homestead. Hopefully there won't be dog shit all over the place.
I've taken the animal for about 5 walks since yesterday and the fucker hasn't shat once. He was expelling the rankest farts last night. Absolutely unbearable smells were emitted. I tried moving away from it, but it followed me wherever I went and farted all over me. Talk about loyal.
And the word on the street is that Rotweillers are unpredictable animals. They'll be friends one minute and your worst enemy the next. From the looks of this dog, it couldn't hurt a flea (rimshot). I try to act as calmly as possible around it, as dogs supposedly smell fear, but the thought of it randomly ripping off my face because of a simple misunderstanding, well, the thought is always in the back of my mind.
In closing, there is a picture of me on the AOPi website over the caption "Party with the Phigs." It's funny because of the faces being made and the fact that I'm not a Phig. It can be found here: Pink is Where it's At!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. (scroll down a bit)
