Leeo

I hate Berli, that Monday-spawning-bastiche, that allocator of woe through the form of cold reality, shattering a mere two days of decadent bliss like a sledgehammer to the back of the head. BERLI! I shake my fist at you in futile rage at this abomination called Monday which you have inflicted upon us with detatched precision. Every 7th frikken day, it's the day of moaning, maudling, and morbid mundanity called Monday. Oh, how I loathe thee, Berli, oh bringer of that most despised ending to freedom and frivolity. I curse thy blackened heart, oh Berli-the-Bane-Bringer. Woe, all is woe on this dark and dreary day of Mon. Berli, you utter bastige. feh

Nipples' lead. That's the new name of my punk group. 'Cept they play no instruments. I've nursed, I've lead, I've painted, I've even worked. Occasionally I trip-up and track crappy engelish threough the Mutha beauaautwifffyuiuueol Threeeeaaaaaaaaasddd.

Once, when I was very very <small>very <small>very<small> very</small></small></small> young, I thought I knew everything. NOW that I've grown older and more exprienced, I've come to realize that I was right all along. Abbott is and idiot, albedo a semi-fuzzable one at that.

I was just remembering the Grand Finals we beat you in.. yup, BOTH times. Carefull, you may start to sound just like the local Fremantle supporters (Losers) over here last season. They couldn't help but let me know how they beat us three times last season... I just pointed to the fact they wern't playing in the last game in september. We did, and we won. I'll take losing to Fremantle 3 times a season and winning the Premiership any time. Noba. ps. There is a perception around town that Freo supporters are becoming more like Collingwood supporters every year. Rabid. Pity they havn't actually WON anything yet... </font>

Joe must be Captain Obvious's understudy and lackey, Corporal Conspicuous Cliche.

Thank you, Captain Obvious. </font>

Been beer-bongin' the Existentialist Lager again, eh? I'm heer for the beer; Don't know about the rest of you blokes. Don't know much about history. Don't know much about biology. Don't know much about a science book. Don't know much about the french I took.

What, no breasts?

Someone (and I'm not pointing fingers, Joe Shaw) is asleep at the wheel, passed out at the tiller, unconcious at the switch, catatonic at the controls, yawning at the yoke...

I have to say that about the only good thing about having tendonitis in one's rotator cuff is the Percocet. Can you say Oxycodone?

When is the release date for my sanity?

He's sandbagging. I'm sure he could think of a better name to call himself.

Oh yeah, it's still just a hunk of metal. That you've shown us before. That we don't care about. That you apparently are WAY too attached to. That provides us an opportunity to butcher the English language. That proves the idiocy of repeated photos of one's "truck." That we still don't care about.

You missed ME, you ex-poster, ex-contributor, ex-pontificator, ex-participates-a-lot. Admit it. You. Missed. ME. Try to aim better next time, for I grow weary.

[clacking of cedar boughs upon hollowed maple-roll please...] I Hereby Deeecreeee and prohclaaiim that I, the wallowing waddle from Waddlesworth, am King of the Creek Hippies. I live near a creek, and am blessed with very small hips (though a pony-kegger of a belly); As my domain I enjoy incessant babbling (much like Dorosh's posts) as counterpoint to the cheery birds' calls. Know One drives by my place, as I live at the end of the road that leads from nowhere unto my somewhere, and one road leads to home. Ahem. As King of the Creek Hippies, I can make all your bottoms soggy, and your nervous systems groggy. And that's how I roll. Out here, in the boonies at the end of the road where the creek hippies live in harmony with the hunters of nature's bounties. One time as a child, the neighbor girl was over and we played down around the creek. We came upon what we were sure was a marijuana plant, which we promptly uprooted and took home to my parents in the righteous indignation of naiveté. We were dismayed to learn that we had uprooted endangered wild tiger lilies. Sometimes it's just a 420 world. [/clacking of cedar boughs upon hollowed maple-roll please...]

*notices that the 12 pack that got Leeo so sloshed still had 11 beers in it* </font>

THEYRE'LL BE KNOW BEGIN HERE!

I demand the return of his emminent Justicar! This place is sadly lacking in petty and administrative red herrings, as well as a good bit of chuckles, without his presence. Though we all fun him, and find in him fun, and funnily find him, he is the keel to our wayward sailboat of constructing existence into the great dark. Don't make me petulant, Justicar!

Do donkey hats foil tin suits?

Yeah, but it's a hill full of dry forest and brush on a very dry hot day in August. I wish you could have variable winds over the course of a scenario. Maybe some McMansions to be placed amongst the tinder because the owners wanted a "view" (to a grill). That would be sweet, and by sweet, I mean totally kool.

HELL YEA!!! I am the master-commander of Boo's fate, and he has knelt and submitted his spear (sit down, bauhaus). TWICE in a row have I technically defeated him, once marginal and once unquestionable. FEAR ME, pool of strange wonders, for now I have the lust of Boo's blood upon my spear, and upon my spear shall the rest of you ride until the end of time (as kept by my spear-ronometer). FLEE in perpetual fear of my vast, chaotic, and unknowingly feeble martial prowess. I SHALL FEAST UPON THE SKULL OF MY ENEMIES!! (and shall also rather enjoy the uncomfortable silence of my friends). QUAKE, mortal men, for I am the agent that will shuffle your paltry pittance of a soul off this mortal coil through which you are nothing more than a steaming pile of fiber.

Wankee. (Every day I write the book)

Is it krill if I mink what I thurder?

I'm more into sloggering about, think-hue-berry-mulch!