Workin' It Like I Wanna
That'd make a great song. I can imagine it being up tempo, making you want to dance.
Anyway, I'll try and update regularly, for all none of you reading this. Really, if we didn't have the kooks spraying out their random bullshit out on the Internet every once in a while, free speech would be meaningless to everyone except 0.01% of the population.
I don't trust Time anymore. Damn continuum. Oh, and the magazine. They told me http://qtdiary.blogspot.com was real. Read around, found out it wasn't. Damn if that guy didn't put on a good performance, though. Bastard, still. Funny thing, though - Time rated this the highest out of any celebrity blog. Heh.
I don't trust the Internet any more. Cruel mistress - I spend my life working on you, filtering through your information, and the whore/bitch/cunt/(female insult) betrays me. Stupid assholes. Stupid guy pretending he's Tarantino. Stupid motherfucker. Stupid me.
Anyway. My life, my thoughts. On the internet. Encoded forever. Provided the machines don't rise up, and delete my blog, or the internet suddenly explodes, or there's a nuclear war, or a biological plague, or a comet the size of Texas hits the Earth, or George Bush is re-elected, there will always be an Internet, and unless Blogger shuts off, there will always be my blog. That's a pretty scary fucking thought. I have nothing important to say. And that digital information will be encoded forever, until the end of Blogger/The Internet/World.
This is really stream of consciousness. Good. It's like my old blogs - I've gotten so far away from Hollywood, what with my fantasies of power, sex, and fame, that I've forgotten that it was never about that. It was about my art.
So yeah. Just writing stream of consciousness here. God, did that movement blow. Stupid Joyce. "Oh, look at me, I'm such an artiste! I don't use quotes, because that's too common and bourgeoisie - I'll use dashes - I hate dashes - they're the lowest form of punctuation - even that stupid [] things - really, why can't we have only one version, the bubbles ( )? Why the square? Is it a Math thing?" (Good God, writing's like Pringles - once you pop, you can't stop.)
(Everybody - Get out your Jewel hats - It's time for the lyrics to Workin' It Like I Wanna! )
Workin' It Like I Wanna
Having a super good time!
Gonna find myself a lover
And take it to the limit.
By having unprotected
anal sex!
Unprotected anal sex!
Unprotected anal sex!
Gonna work her like I wanna! Ooh!
Gonna work her like I wanna! Ooh!
This is what lack of sex does to you. That, and trying to imitate Robin Williams. Which I'm not. Intentionally. Of course, by stating that intention, I'm becoming more like Robin Williams. And since this is based entirely on information, that's all the ammunition I have to defend myself.
Don't think.
Anyway, I'll try and update regularly, for all none of you reading this. Really, if we didn't have the kooks spraying out their random bullshit out on the Internet every once in a while, free speech would be meaningless to everyone except 0.01% of the population.
I don't trust Time anymore. Damn continuum. Oh, and the magazine. They told me http://qtdiary.blogspot.com was real. Read around, found out it wasn't. Damn if that guy didn't put on a good performance, though. Bastard, still. Funny thing, though - Time rated this the highest out of any celebrity blog. Heh.
I don't trust the Internet any more. Cruel mistress - I spend my life working on you, filtering through your information, and the whore/bitch/cunt/(female insult) betrays me. Stupid assholes. Stupid guy pretending he's Tarantino. Stupid motherfucker. Stupid me.
Anyway. My life, my thoughts. On the internet. Encoded forever. Provided the machines don't rise up, and delete my blog, or the internet suddenly explodes, or there's a nuclear war, or a biological plague, or a comet the size of Texas hits the Earth, or George Bush is re-elected, there will always be an Internet, and unless Blogger shuts off, there will always be my blog. That's a pretty scary fucking thought. I have nothing important to say. And that digital information will be encoded forever, until the end of Blogger/The Internet/World.
This is really stream of consciousness. Good. It's like my old blogs - I've gotten so far away from Hollywood, what with my fantasies of power, sex, and fame, that I've forgotten that it was never about that. It was about my art.
So yeah. Just writing stream of consciousness here. God, did that movement blow. Stupid Joyce. "Oh, look at me, I'm such an artiste! I don't use quotes, because that's too common and bourgeoisie - I'll use dashes - I hate dashes - they're the lowest form of punctuation - even that stupid [] things - really, why can't we have only one version, the bubbles ( )? Why the square? Is it a Math thing?" (Good God, writing's like Pringles - once you pop, you can't stop.)
(Everybody - Get out your Jewel hats - It's time for the lyrics to Workin' It Like I Wanna! )
Workin' It Like I Wanna
Having a super good time!
Gonna find myself a lover
And take it to the limit.
By having unprotected
anal sex!
Unprotected anal sex!
Unprotected anal sex!
Gonna work her like I wanna! Ooh!
Gonna work her like I wanna! Ooh!
This is what lack of sex does to you. That, and trying to imitate Robin Williams. Which I'm not. Intentionally. Of course, by stating that intention, I'm becoming more like Robin Williams. And since this is based entirely on information, that's all the ammunition I have to defend myself.
Don't think.
posted by Marshall McMahon at 5:24 PM
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