justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Why do ducks have webbed feet? To stamp out fires. Why do elephants have flat feet? To stamp out burning ducks BGM: "Jackass" - The Vandals OK, so I imagine you're all wondering where I've been. I thank you for your concern, and for all the piles and piles of letters demanding an update I'm pretending I recieved. There is, however a perfectly valid reason as to my absense. (which quite frankly I'm hoping you noticed) I was trapped. In a...... um.... a burrow. A wombat burrow. Yes, that's it. I was trapped underground with rabid, bestial vicious wombats who would relent at nothing short of consuming my very being. I was there inverstigating the, uh, mating habits of the Canadian wombat-- which up until I made it up just now didn't exist-- when the burrow exit collapsed, confining me in this cramped enclosure with seven rather irritated wombats. But through my great charisma, which apparently transcends both language and species, I was able to assimilate myself into the group. I was there for a month. I should really take a shower soon, come to think of it. Wombat musk has permiated my every cell. .....wait for it... waaaaait for iiiit..... HA! see? So yeah, that's why I didn't update. Marmosets. I mean, Wombasets. I mean, Chumbawumbasets. I mean Wombats. Whatever. So how have you all been? Fantastic, I'm happy for you. Unless of course you said something negative in which case let me offer my vague and only marginally helpful comments. And if you actually spoke to your computer screen just now, you have my sympathies. You're mentally deficient. You longtime readers may have noticed that the staff here at breathe deeply has been changing the style of our world famous rants over the months. Whereas we used to chronicle things like... well, my life, for one... now we simply chronicle whatever random whimsical thoughts enter my head that I think won't get me arrested if commited to paper. Reasons for this are that some parties involved seemed to think that discussing them on the internet anonymously after changing their names wasn't quite anonymous enough. And all this after they talked about moi on their bloody blog pages. But I digress. All this is to say, that's why my updates are so infrequent lately. All my thoughts are either highly immoral, uninteresting, or directly involved in my personal life. Somehow, though, I don't think the wonbats will mind. And now, good people, is the freakin' story of my romantic life. From bad, to worse, to 'throw him a bone before he joins a monastic order'. I'm sitting in McKibbins, my preferred haunt, when I hear a wonderfully feminine voice peep 'excuse me?' so I turn, and lo and behold, there's a drop dead gorgeous blonde standing right beside me. "Do you come here often?' she asks? At this point, I am astounded. And to be completely honest, rather pleased with myself. "Yeah, I like to hang out here I guess." I say, confidently. I am a sex bomb. I am, like, thermonuclear sexy. Women of the world, brace your selves and ready your bomb shelters, because I've got a weapon of mass seduction with your names on it. I smile at her, manly...uh... ly, and ready myself for the imminent drink request/proposal. "Oh, great, so then do you know where the bathrooms are?" I am a wrinkled little monkey fetus. On the walk home, I hear yet another voice. A male voice. From in a car. "Hi..." Anthony Hopkins' voice in a gorilla's body. "Hi." 11:07 p.m. - 2004-10-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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