|Lawrence of Canada
Nice as Pie (Pilate, Pious, Pi), but not as Nice as Bri(en)
Mister Lawrence who thinks he's Perfect
Until I can convince everyone that it wouldn't be mean-spirited to have a Most Satisfying Flames section, this goes here, 'cause I LOVE it. (and Lawrence likes it, too)
Norm Gall wrote, (defensively, I
No one thinks I'm an asshole.
You're not supposed to reveal your mantra, Asshole.
and no, you don't get your money back...
You can never have too much Lawrence though, so ...
Fuckin A!!! Baybee... we drink too much and we eat too much and we smoke too much and we fuck too much and we laugh too much and we spit and we fart and we belch and we puke. I'm drinking beer and eating a bacon sandwich with mayonaisse even as we speak. I haven't been outside in three weeks and this room is piled high with pizza boxes and greasy styrofoam takeout containers containing dryed out tomatoe slices and lettuce in pools of coagulated fat. My keyboard is coated with mustard, ketchup, dried pickle juice and that sticky orange coating that you get from Cheezies. I have a hot plate beside my printer where I cook fried eggs and handformed cheeseburgers made with regular ground beef purchased from the " Last day of Sale" bin at the butcher shop. I've had food poisoning more times than you've got laid, you whiney little twigman. I laugh it off and have extra synthetic maple syrup on my extruded frozen waffles. I'm fatter than a Sumo wrestler and ten times the man you'll ever be, my jiggly breasts are bigger than your womans and my fat cock makes my fat little girlfriend squeal like the pig she is...
Nibble your paint chips, there hairboy. We'll get you some aluminum scissors when you grow too weak to lift those steel shears. Drink your mineral water and trim your nails and scrub your rickety little body with a loofa and a pumice stone... I'll be grossing em out long after your decimated (but perfectly preserved) carcass is buried in your macrobiotic garden. All your body-consious peers can have an extra 50 ml. of spring water so that they may squeeze out a tear at your slim little gravesite. I can just picture it, all your pals in their natural fibres from Eddy Bauer squeezing out those precious bodily fluids like they were straining to pass a constipated little rabbit turd. I'll be the guy driving by in my Caddy with the heavy-duty suspension and the 'Fat Fucker' bumper sticker - eating poutine and drinking Canadian beer by the case on my way to another orgy.