There's nothing like indulging your juvenile sense of humor, while reading the news.
The humor here just has to be on purpose. There's no other explanation.
At any rate, it made me smile.
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"And I am a writer, writer of fictions / I am the heart that you call home / And I've written pages upon pages / trying to rid you from my bones..." -- "The Engine Driver" by The Decemberists
About Me
- Dave
- A recovering "slacker lit-geek," now trying to make good on all that untapped potential he kept hearing about.
friends who care for me
in beds in little rooms
bones beneath my skin
beneath the dust and love
ain't this position familiar
it's 4:30 a.m. on a tuesday
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2005
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June
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June
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