Clearly? Leery? O'really?

Tales of doubt, vectors of Fury: Bongos!

--That's the way to be! Little Joe said, never once give it away.

So Kim stopped bi Saturday, seeming to want to resurrect me with her mouth.

I let her in for a few minutes. Nealy lost my quasi-immaterial soul; I take it that she'd been the one who knocked on the door when Ed came over with the sugar-free cookies.

Wasted a lot of time playing around with Tagged.com. Another of those myspace clones.

Trish came home around 3:30/4:00, wanted to go to the store, bought some juice & pop: Diet Mr. Fruity -- I'm sure Mr. Fruity has spread many lies, a lot like your various Vadisystems.

Got to use a lot of our money to buy a 5.1 receiver. The surround shorted out; we now have stereo only.

The Mighty Insect Slayer wanted to go to Church. Someone behind us made a comment, which I believe was intended for my wife: "She's retarded, & has the mind of a 2nd grader."

This almost created savage vorkling Fury: leader of a gay motorcycle gang.

We watched TV on our dying home theater, then I slept pretty much restfully; demons of the night, depart from me, & leave at the door.

I'm going to be painting Szabo's organ. He's sending it gutless, for me to do with it as I please May affix old electronics parts to it; paint the keys various complementary colors & harmonies.

Should be real atomic. Like a bong. Personally, I prefer waterpipes to joints.