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October 5, 2009 | by  | in Opinion | [ssba]



Man, I was just writing one of my other articles, and it was two thousand words long! I can’t believe I know two thousand words! I wouldn’t even know how to count to two thousand! Sum words = hard. Hard talk, and even hard think a swordfight, to elocute comma sometimes unremember what they’re even meaningsness. As I jump up and down boing boing boing on this keyboard type words in my brain into computers brain, I shoot the buttons with my magnum .44 to give my sentences extra punch and destructy emphasisismsityaciousnessality.

Eye finders keepers spelling right and program always correctioning every worm I say herd! So I don’t know if you’ll understand what I mean while I’m introducting myself, strangely in 2nd 2 last is shoe. The first hole a burglar crawls in is the introduct.

Their I zebra—4 computer, one middleman, sub-editor, 2 middleman, both need to know exactly what I average in Law & Order 4 hugh to stand under me. I think last will and testament apprehend comms better if we received rid of sub-editor and MS Word and I just came up to you with my megaphone and talked this article right at your ear, then you wood bumblebee mutch the saner 4 writ.

I could come to your lecture and talk it to each one of you down the road I tell you all the things I tell you, like this.

Almost like a sultana, all the ones therein Salient office R telling at me stop talking on computer on my megaphone while I type, because it infiltrates their soundwaves, which not 2468 have permit 4! Cliff nerve!

Hi. (Relationship gurus believe that to be a great opening sentence. I have used it in this instance as an auxiliary sentence unclose) How U? What U up to? What job? U like rugby/video games? U = nerd? Jock? Skater? U = man or woman? Age? I just asked, if you don’t mind me asking.

Questions = boring. Because talk = exercise book. But I verb apostrophe United Nations what else to say! So I will shut up. I will now + seed second influential you about something else that is boring. I’m lacking stability weather (whether is boring 2 drums) or no cup of tea boring as whatever your lecturer is saying, I don’t know if I can be that boring. Still, .

Smile, rotate 90 degrees, hair follicles that grow front my head (I will not release their individual names), have, I believe, been growing inward toward my brain, and coming out of my nose. There bee fore eye possessions lions mane shook when laugh gruffly belch salad down the front of my top and all over the person or computer I was talking at, now I have these two little landing strips slowly growing into the centre of my scalp, where you can actually see the dandruff atoms having unprotected, carefree sex and multiplying at an alarming rate. I now have 630 degree vision all around feet, dishonest bacteria.

So the big question I need to ask is why is my brain doing this? Is my brain stupid? I really hope that my brain is not a moron like some people’s brains are. Maybe my brain is just a dick. It would kind of suck if cool dude like me had brain = total dick, but sometimes that = unluck of Clint Eastwood. R people in my brain trying to wind me up, so I’ll stop talking to them? Or do they want my hair for some reason? Why do they always do stuff like this? Backwards becoming a skinhead? Be four June B. Anti-doubt logic Y chromosome Jackson me write that thing about racing. Of course. Now I’m bored. You are probably bored too. Without comparing myself to Newton, and without mentioning my “gravity of theories” theory, I would like to tell you some of the questions I have in my life.

I went online to find out if there was any good goss debunking the people conspiring in my brain. It was 9.33 am Masonic thirty-three, man! And nine is three threes, nine minus three is six, times it by the three left over and it’s six six six! Which is 7.06, which means Shortland Street was on! I ran to the TV, and sure enough, TK was there in all his glory, smoking and chuffing away on the old P pipe, those guns of his all blazing Bible.

Will I be rescued by a handsome princess? As I hark sweet romantic sonnets with my original 17th-century hand-crafted gaelic mandolin on death metal distortion setting, I call softly to that egg-cooker I shall one day wed. And when she calls “let down your long hair!” I shall simply…

…blow my nose.

And that is how you fall in love. Next week is my drugs article.


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