Why can't I tie my shoe? That weasel keeps eating my glasses. The glasses are the kind that make the world look like Mars, but it's only a germ on your nose. The roof is caving in again. The only use for the walls is to block paper planes thrown by dilusional kids who think it's a weapon of mass destruction. I hate eating at Subway, so I buy Quizzno's and eat at Subway's buildings. I meet the CEO of a local car-making company; he drives a polyethiline-blue Ford to the recently destroyed (I don't have anything to do with it) American Car Makers headquarters, where he sits and plays Halo 2 for $527,649.81 dollars a year. These nachoes that weasel gave me are stale, he should try cooking with a rusty nail. If only those pies would follow the formula: pi•r^2, so I wouldn't attack the Key Limeness with a protractor and an exacto-knife.

Thanks for visiting, you know you can't wait for my next blog.