i think my housemat robbed a petrol station
Fucking flip those sandwiches over. Doesn't that bother you!?
it does bother me.
it also bothers me that two plastic packs on top of the coke cans are on the top shelf and one two are on a shelf below it. they should all be on the top shelf or all on the lower shelf.
sersly.
i think the bakery people who distribute these fine pastries also supply hospitals, which would explain the old patients sticker. i only know they came from a servo because i recieved a vague message from him saying so.
my housemate is pretty fucking cool. he does security, so i hardly see him, and when i do he's always got some zany moneymaking idea. woke for work one day at 6am he's there, on his computer. "hey bro. i've just started selling viagra on the internet." this week he's installing pc internals into large inanimate objects (atm, guitar) for novelty computers. he's teaching me nunchucks, he's fucking amazing on them himself. even when we tied glo-sticks to them and turned out the lights
my housemate is pretty fucking cool. he does security, so i hardly see him, and when i do he's always got some zany moneymaking idea. woke for work one day at 6am he's there, on his computer. "hey bro. i've just started selling viagra on the internet." this week he's installing pc internals into large inanimate objects (atm, guitar) for novelty computers. he's teaching me nunchucks, he's fucking amazing on them himself. even when we tied glo-sticks to them and turned out the lights
that sounds like the best roommate eva. judging by the photos, what's most odd is the number of coke cans but no 12 pack boxes.
Because I love. I, who am not loved in return. I have a love that is far deeper than the empty gasps and convulsions of brutish coupling. Shall I speak of her? Shall I speak of my bride? She has no eyes to flirt or promise. But she still sees all. Sees and understands with a wisdom that is god-like in its scale. I stand at the gates of her intellect and I am blinded by the light within. How stupid I must seem to her. How child-like and uncomprehending. Her soul is clean, untainted by the snares and ambiguities of emotion. She is untouched by joy or sorrow. I worship her though I am not worthy. I cherish the purity of her disdain. She does not respect me. She does not fear me. She does not love me. They think she is hard, and cold, those who do not her. They think she is lifeless and without passion. They do not know her. She has not touched them. She touches me, and I am touched by God, by destiny. The whole of existence courses through her. I worship her. I am her slave. No freedom ever was so sweet.
No Frank in this thread yet? Ha! ..heh...
Seriously though, I'm jealous.
Oh, I've been in it. That's why there's some doughnuts missing. Hard to type with goo on your hands, and I'm not talking about the kind YOU get after a lonely night in.












Joined: 2008-07-06
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