2004-10-18 - 8:32 p.m.
Updates so close together? Boy, do I need it... the fork-tongued fallacy.
I give up on humor. It's senseless to beat you over the head with it when you have absolutely no sense of it, and no wit. Where did the love go? Oh, it's fading into oblivion. Could you be more subtle? "I'd jump you if I could."
You'd be so flattered if I wrote you songs on my guitar. They wouldn't be for you; they would be about you, and they wouldn't be flattering. You're a pathological liar - not in the Neil Gaiman "Writers are liars, my dear" beautiful way, either. My prose can't rip you, but perhaps my anthems would. We'll have to see about that.
If only you loved me half as much as you love yourself. Forgive me, but I don't want to be just another notch in someone's belt.
I hate to admit it, but sometimes my writing style is so similar to his that it's creepy... and his name begins with P. Of course, this is very dependent on how incensed I am about a subject, b/c I often lose the ability to form complete sentences.
Pull me over, please. Speeding down this two-lane road, headed off to hell.
"When they come for me I'll be sitting at my desk with a gun in my hand wearing a bulletproof vest, singing My my my how the time does fly when you know you're gonna die by the end of the night." - Catch 22, "Keasbey Nights"
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