flashback: labour day monday. sometime between 1998 and 2003, noon. "backstage" a polyester clad cocaine addict spills backwards over the sectional, cutting her head open on a clay pot. ten minutes later, screaming blood, the band hits the deck and there's this terrific silver sparkling flash. The pantsuited singer has not been grounded. The first chorded croon on the microphone completes the circuit, everything pops, and she's vanished. no one's seen her since, but there's a local claim of a front tooth found in her marshall.
anyway, i got the tooth and i made a necklace out of it and gave it to my girlfriend. she's like: "what the fuck's this? a tooth? is it yours?" and so i tell her the legend and she throws it at me and says, "you gave me some other chicks tooth?"
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5 comments:
here's the thing, i'd read your blog more often if the colour contrast were more, well, contrast-ey. it would make the text easier to decipher. it's not the message, it's the medium.
hey cupidiot, read something else. this is obviously beyond you.
I forgot, everyone is so angry here. It's a microcosm of the worst of our selves: absorption, indulgence, manic ego parading behind dross. Gladly, otherpeopleagree, gladly. Au revoir.
i am sad that you think this is dross...
I'm sorry. I just like the word dross.
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