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Behold as I sit in front of my computer, mashed potatos and codine racing through my system.
Codatos!
I am brilliant.
So, I had my face ripped out on Friday. For all of you who have seen me drop off the planet, it is because of that, and not because of the weekend apprehension of the serial sex offender in Toronto. But I appreciate your concern and offers to testify on my behalf. I will be sure to thank you by beating you to death with my nail studded penis next time I see you.
Even the Russian.
Turns out that my wisdom teeth possess the amazing ability to, when threatened with extraction, turn ninty degrees and explode in a ball of enemal shrapnel when touched. We lost three dental assistants, driving up the cost of my surgery by at least fifteen bucks. (to cover their education losses)
My fearsomely explosive teeth requiring cutting and gouging to the jawline, and drilling in more places than a Republican managed Artic preserve. After two hours, nearly a pint of my blood, a pound of flesh that would make Abyss happy, and the afore mentioned slain dental groupies, I emerged without wisdom teeth.
In the place of wisdom, they gave me drugs.
Nice, happy drugs that make you mellow, unconcerned of the Siberian stripmine that is your mouth, generally filled with goodwill towards all man and absolutely incapable of rational thought. I sat blissfully on my couch, realising this is what it must have been like to be John Denver.
I had prepared for my recovery period by purchasing the seventh season of Buffy on DVD and watched it in my spurts of lucidity, mildly surprised that it seemed to be a lot better than I remembered it being. Considering that I was higher than a sherpa tightrope act, this judgement may not be entirely valid.
According to sources, the drugs make me mushy and sentimental, as I accosted people on AIM and attempted to explain why the world was a good and honest place that just really wanted to be your friend. I deeply apologize for that disservice, and hopefully you have all returned to the cynical 'life is a gangfuck through a nearly cut orifice in the soul' mindset that I have so energetically tried to nurture in all of you.
While on codine, things make sense only for a split second, and then don't matter. It's an interesting feeling. I read my horoscope and it said 'Mercery is rising in your future' and thought 'I should e-mail KJ and thank her for that'. It's just a scary thing. I was able to discuss the idea of what would happen if JB returned to California with her, and the term 'if you leave me I'll find your family and turn them into handpuppets' didn't come up once. I have a note that says 'Maybe W really means "Well, hey, I tried" and that's the important thing'.
Obviously, there is going to have to be a shower of degenerate violence to get all of this crap out of my system once the pain is gone. Let's face it. The kinder, gentler Dex is a retard harp seal in need of a fur coat process. Time to stuff the fucker full of broken glass and make it do crunches until the good runs out on to the snow.
But maybe after some more codine.
PS: Actual content time. Stephen Harper has staked out his ground on same-sex marriage with gusto today, and has just entered the Stockwell Day countdown. It was surprising to see our normally invertabre Prime Minister step up like a gunslinger, hitch his belt, and give the Conservative leader the finger by making it a human rights fight that he'll stake an election on. This underlines a big difference between Canada and the US, kids. Martin just did the biggest step to shore up his own government by making a no-retreat, no-compromise stand supporting same-sex marriage, and Harper just ended his leadership of the party by opposing it. More on this when the drugs stop making me crave chocolate and plush animals.
Codine: It's the quicker gayer-upper!
Codatos!
I am brilliant.
So, I had my face ripped out on Friday. For all of you who have seen me drop off the planet, it is because of that, and not because of the weekend apprehension of the serial sex offender in Toronto. But I appreciate your concern and offers to testify on my behalf. I will be sure to thank you by beating you to death with my nail studded penis next time I see you.
Even the Russian.
Turns out that my wisdom teeth possess the amazing ability to, when threatened with extraction, turn ninty degrees and explode in a ball of enemal shrapnel when touched. We lost three dental assistants, driving up the cost of my surgery by at least fifteen bucks. (to cover their education losses)
My fearsomely explosive teeth requiring cutting and gouging to the jawline, and drilling in more places than a Republican managed Artic preserve. After two hours, nearly a pint of my blood, a pound of flesh that would make Abyss happy, and the afore mentioned slain dental groupies, I emerged without wisdom teeth.
In the place of wisdom, they gave me drugs.
Nice, happy drugs that make you mellow, unconcerned of the Siberian stripmine that is your mouth, generally filled with goodwill towards all man and absolutely incapable of rational thought. I sat blissfully on my couch, realising this is what it must have been like to be John Denver.
I had prepared for my recovery period by purchasing the seventh season of Buffy on DVD and watched it in my spurts of lucidity, mildly surprised that it seemed to be a lot better than I remembered it being. Considering that I was higher than a sherpa tightrope act, this judgement may not be entirely valid.
According to sources, the drugs make me mushy and sentimental, as I accosted people on AIM and attempted to explain why the world was a good and honest place that just really wanted to be your friend. I deeply apologize for that disservice, and hopefully you have all returned to the cynical 'life is a gangfuck through a nearly cut orifice in the soul' mindset that I have so energetically tried to nurture in all of you.
While on codine, things make sense only for a split second, and then don't matter. It's an interesting feeling. I read my horoscope and it said 'Mercery is rising in your future' and thought 'I should e-mail KJ and thank her for that'. It's just a scary thing. I was able to discuss the idea of what would happen if JB returned to California with her, and the term 'if you leave me I'll find your family and turn them into handpuppets' didn't come up once. I have a note that says 'Maybe W really means "Well, hey, I tried" and that's the important thing'.
Obviously, there is going to have to be a shower of degenerate violence to get all of this crap out of my system once the pain is gone. Let's face it. The kinder, gentler Dex is a retard harp seal in need of a fur coat process. Time to stuff the fucker full of broken glass and make it do crunches until the good runs out on to the snow.
But maybe after some more codine.
PS: Actual content time. Stephen Harper has staked out his ground on same-sex marriage with gusto today, and has just entered the Stockwell Day countdown. It was surprising to see our normally invertabre Prime Minister step up like a gunslinger, hitch his belt, and give the Conservative leader the finger by making it a human rights fight that he'll stake an election on. This underlines a big difference between Canada and the US, kids. Martin just did the biggest step to shore up his own government by making a no-retreat, no-compromise stand supporting same-sex marriage, and Harper just ended his leadership of the party by opposing it. More on this when the drugs stop making me crave chocolate and plush animals.
Codine: It's the quicker gayer-upper!
