Saturday, February 01, 2003
If you ain't where you is, you’re
no place. God, in the year 2050, finally
got the chance to enjoy Armageddon.
He nonchalantly resumed devouring
his order, racing down the road
with two leather-clad ladies in hot
pursuit, whipping him since it is
the time of month where this
"Goldfish" dearly desires the hot
pastrami sandwich of a Man
wearing coleslaw, Swiss cheese,
Russian and a pink shirt who is
running down Buffalo and lost as
the fractal murders the police.