January 13th, 2002


(no subject)

: sl, oh I sysad a little too so the death threat is from that point of
: view. as in "You want what fucking bandwidth for your useless mother
: fucking piece of shit can't type correctly nancy boy can't spell sql
: unless some middle management guy is dry humping you with fucking corn
: dogs and his fingers in your ears? go put up another "you don't have to
: be crazy to work here, but it helps!" poster up you wannabe fucking
: first year out of uni where you didn't learn shit except how to not win
: friends with your fucking vegetarian cardboard flavoured personality,
: I'm off to the pub"

Simon Larsen...
the man....
the myth...
the Jedi....

(no subject)

just gonna curl up into a ball and cry.

I'm exceedingly discontent.
I'm exceedingly groggy and annoyed and somehow it just keeps getting worse the more my body ramps down toward sleep.

I just want to sit and bawl

(no subject)

I am the surreal eddie izzard.
Which Izzard Are You?

Surreal Izzard: You talk bollocks all the time, and don't care who knows it. You are King Pig from Hell, and talk to strange people on buses. Your underwear is consipring against you, and if James Mason was here, he'd have something to say about it. And that something would be WEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Big fucking shock.

But I think I'll take it over and over to see the permutations.