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Thursday, July 26, 2007
1 comment:
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Anonymous said...
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Not like this thread is overfull:
Planet Eschaton. Dammit, always this desert planet. Damm deserted dessert dry. Planet.
Red shirt. Cap'n Kirk always makes me wear the red shirt, and take point. Mofo couldn't appreciate alliteration if it bit him in the John Edwards shorts. I can take point tho, coz I got the B+ in that one class, "What's the Point, Poindexter?". James Joyce just gizzed my gyro (yeah yeah, Jiro, not Hero).
George Bush made me come here. What I could alliteratively do with Bush, and the metaphors? Territory noone has yet alluded to. By my 22nd birthday, I will be the new Mailer. Except not so gay. Or gayer, I forget which gives the larger advance. Vidal will email me later, after my 20-hour shift of killing dogs and skull fucking.
Had another dream t'other night, about Mary Jane Rottencrotch. She was in our restaurant, and her crotch was devolved onto her face. Man, screw Kerouac, I'm in Camus territory. Oh yeah, Camus. And Kafka, he was in the same course, forgot to read him tho. But, metaphor == metamorphosis. Get it? Note to self: Write more diaries.
Ward "the chutch" Churchill got the axe the other night. That's gotta be worth an extra 20 grand in signing bonuses from those hot chicks (guys, still not sure who to pander to) in New York. I'm about to get martyred out of the US Army, I can see that parade down 5th Ave a mile away.
Well, Dear Diary, that about wraps it up. My next assignment will be in Iran, where I'll be like that one guy in Apocalypse Now, what's his name, Kerry, and I'll be doing acid and blowing up my credibility. With my hat. And my cool byline.
The Diarist. -
7/26/07, 11:45 PM
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