and we're commenting again!

i'm a fucking genius...

testing the old wiffle ball...come on jack...let's go play cards...

lynn's BACK!!!!

and her commenter doesn't work, so i'll just spew in reference to her spew here:

i'm seriously freaked out by all the little faces on the commenter...

larry david is amazing, i've been obsessing over that show for a year now, although i must say that (we interrupt this post for a stoner moment: beth is currently in a predicament under the table of the computer lab with both ankles stuck in the cords) it's lost a bit of the kick that it had first season...

my question is, who *actually* invites richard lewis on their show...he seems like the type of guy who sort of hangs out at the kraft table, fiddling with the pretty unconventional toothpicks with the fringe on the top where you can't really even pick your teeth with it, now can you, and larry david's like, "richard's here again", and the director already knows larry's entonement because they used to go to hebrew school together, so he walks over to richard, and richard is like "hey robert", and robert is like "richard!...what's happening", and richard is like "the lifetime thing fell through", but richard always does that, mentions things that no one else knows about because he hasn't had sex in 14 years, so robert gets that director look and says "oh, yea, i heard that wasn't good", and richard gets that crazy look with that crazy hair with a singular tear running down one cheek because his colored contacts were put in backwards this morning because one of his plutonic female friends that really only talks to him because she doesn't want him to hurt her slept over that night, on the couch of course ,and she distracted him while she was taking a shower and he was tuning in to his bathroom cam "the slam cam", as he calls it, because he looks like the type of person to install a "slam cam", but he can't afford the service for much longer because the "lifetime thing" fell through, so larry is forced to put him on the show....

larry david is a funny funny man, and i think he, you and i should have tea sometime...

how does she look?

in a complete relapse of a cognitive interpretation of reality, my stoner ass completely forgot to save all the link information that the previous stoner chronicles had...

this is both a good and terribly bad thing...

if you have a blog, or a link, and you read the chronicles and think that i am much cooler than any deity, please email me at marleyganja420@aol.com, and i will link your page, and i might even mention your name, unless it is similar to mine because then i won't because it would be taking away from my name and this is my page and it's not yours...

i wish i knew how to spell ka-pee-sh....

thank you and more to come...

seven months ago today, at this precise time...

i was having sex...

i am currently downing a bag of combos in the computer lab, and i think i have a urinary tract infection


fuck me...

no really, please...

This site looks like shit...the green and the pink and the broken guestbook and commenter...

Can someone help me?...

speaking of web pages, i still haven't paid Cristina!

cristina, cristina, this month i will pay cristina...

don't beat me up, cristina...i'll have the money...

speaking of money, i'm assuming Ave never got my package and my check...or she did and she's doing exactly what i did to her since November 20th, which is fine...sitting there, with her pet husky on her futon, eatin combos with my t-shirt...

money , money, one day i hope i will always have to worry about it...

I am not an ethical person. I realized this today in class when my professor forced me to engage in an argument about Lingus and torture. We were reading a story, "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas", by Ursula Le Guin, where a supposedly perfect society, free from crime, addiction and poverty, lock this poor little 10 year old bastard child in a basement, and thrive off of his pain. If the child is set free, the perfect society would crumble. Some of these inhabitants choose to stay, knowing about this kid who employs but one man to kick him in the face every once in a while, and not feed him so that society can survive. This, of course, is a hypothetical situation that is derived from the big dirty American mentality, that also loves to piss on little starving children.

So, the professor asked what we would do, as there is the option to leave the city, stay silent and enjoy the free drugs, sex and bareback horseriding festivals, or free the child and face the consequences of such a paradox. Naturally I chose to stay, although i must admit that i would probably put my clothes on the horse for my own personal amusement.

I don't know where people get the idea that it's wrong to only worry about yourself. I try to stray away from guilt, i don't like to look around and point out everything that's wrong, and why i think that it's wrong, and why it should be changed. As far as i'm concerned, life *is* one big fucking paradox, if i feed one kid off the 700 Club commercials, who's to say he's not wearing that sandwich around his neck, charging a peach pit and 3 slabs of bark for everyone to touch his D grade salami on wheat, pissing off all the other little starving children. What if i start a little starving children war somewhere in enter unprounounceable city here, where the kids have to use the soup as weaponry towards the other kids who are trying to attack them for it, a whole soup war is in full force as i sit lazily, stoned and teary eyed on my big ass couch with my big ass bowl of cheerios reading the numbers off my personalized bank card, asking the operator "Now do i get a postcard, or...?". Meanwhile the salami pimp is hovering his scalding 2 year old dinty moore over the head of the only kid in the village who has the energy to lift the weight of a surplus chunky pencil, all so i can feel reassured that i have done something this year.

I like doing drugs, I like spending my money on drugs, and video games and frappucino's, and i'm pretty lucky that i don't live in a tree.

Are you?

sorry, i got lost...

so, as i was saying, about the links, i'm not sure what happened there, apparently i didn't clean anything up because the last time i checked my page (which is just about every five seconds, i do it for the ladies), nothing was fixed...

Saturday marks the 21st year of the Wench, otherwise known as Flippin Wench's 21st birthday, or Wench's birthday, if you're an anti-semite (which apparently i am for naming my parakeet hitler)

this is an official stoner get-together, jam packed with risky car rides, respective ritualistic dancing such as "the ryonce", "the wench birthday pop", and perhaps even a big waisted visit from Roe. Oh yes, and we will be trying shrooms...

DUN DUN DUN!

i won't be, of course, i'm the designated stoner referee, which means as soon as everyone is tripping, i get to rip off my clothes and blow a whistle the size of a tim hortons (katio: "tim hortons?!") berry blast muffin(the one on the poster, as opposed to reality), watch people's brains piss out of their foreheads, should be a hoot...

apparently there's a rumor going around work that i've quit smoking...i don't know who nipple fucked that out of their imagination, but there is no such thing as a sober stoner, and you can quote me on that...

next week the stoners will have their own radio show, yes, i repeat, someone gave us a time slot...it might be on the national jesuit college radio station, but, after 10pm, we can say "fart" and "turd" and "tits", but we can not however talk about homosexuals...naturally i'd love to invite scott thompson on the show, even though he's the most unconvincing gay man that ever called me a fat ass (thanks for kicking me off of aol again!::::::throws up west side gang hand gesture::::::::, do the whole human thing much?, stand up?, walk?, buy oranges? sweaty nightmares about accidentally signing up for juno and not being able to read usenet?...pigfuckers)...

ever since birdman's initiation (i've completely forgot how to phrase sentences and spell, but i think being high 14 hours a day really makes up for it, in the long run), he has not removed himself from the fake leather couch by the window at Barton (not to be confused with the late Parkdale, and the soon-to-be late Harvard), except to wrestle, yes wrestle, with bobcat and wench...

in fact, we've been wrestling so much that we might contemplate creating an improvisational wrestling league, which is the excuse i gave the doctor last week when i bruised my rotator cuff, and just about everything else after wiping out at work on the wet floor sign (irony, much?:::::picture a "writer" with "writer glasses" a really old leather jacket, converse sneakers and an unfancy chewn top bic roller ball, with that exact catch phrase, we'd have frost-wannabe's lining up at talking leaves {that's a bookstore, katio} like your local librarian was giving a free lecture on the art of pocket pooling)

birdman is a good shit, though....he takes me to school, and drives fast (although i'll never admit it exhilirating at the time, in case we get in an accident, and i die and he doesn't, we wouldn't want him to think i would forgive him for being reckless with the life of a fucking genius, and this sentence might prove itself to be prolific, and hopefully if i was to ever die in a car crash my mother wouldn't learn how to use the internet and weep at the sight of this particular sentence, here, as i sit quite alive in the lab because my plant class was cancelled)

auto show today, dinner with bobcat tonight, and pray for my knee, and with that the hope of the stoner improvisational wrestling league that lingers without my help...