"It's pretty fuzzy now, and what I can remember is kind of hard to believe, but I was born a poor white child in a crumbling rat infested house with the more than adequate luck of it being in the greatest nation in the history of the world."
"I told myself not to eat the paint chips peeling from the windowsill, they probably wouldn't taste good, but the way they came off as I picked at them, they were irresistible, I couldn't help it, and turns out I was right, they don't taste good."
I was born at a very young age at hospital where my mother was also a patient. I wanted to be near her when it happened. When I'm asked "What sign were you born under?" I tell the truth: Emergency Entrance.
"In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since: "Son, don't give people unsolicited advice. It just makes you seem like a dick.""
Remember what you do is by life limited; here is intended to convey both the concepts of life's limitations and the limitations of the individual, of which I am one necessary.
So, because twice I had simply misheard, I was tricked out of both looks and brains. Still I might have had a chance if it hadn't been for what happened next...
Paddy, When I did undercover work I had several aliases w/ a tracfone. Sometimes, as I picked up the phone, I couldn't remember my name. I had one favorite alias but you have to switch up sometimes. So, I would answer w/ a cautious "hello" and wait for them to ask, "Is this Bill?" Or, "Is this John?" etc. Then I knew. So, your comment rings true.
So, because twice I had simply misheard, I was shit out of luck on both looks and brains. Still, I might have had a chance if it hadn't been for what happened next...
"All I ever wanted was to be the guy who offed Ted."
Ted reminded me, as Ted was a configuration, of my beloved dog Barnett.
I named Barnett after Dean.
Dean Barnett was a good man, worthy of much more than me naming my dog after him.
Mr. Dean Barnett deserves no less though than someone somewhere naming their dog after him, and I will let you know right here and now Barnett supersedes all expectations-greatness be damned (as it were) as far as recognition.
No fewer than thirty lives later all I could think was "fuck me" as drama, in form of severe contemplation, developed Romney.
Or McCain.
Or the next Bush.
Let's do some "die slow motherfucker" or "my 44 make sure all y'all kids don't grow" or am I offending this comment home by linking Tupac, at Tupac's worst (recorded) and my best (another free day).
Althouse allowed via her comments me linking Tupac a bunch.
I respect that even though I hate the lyrics of "Hit 'Em Up" and other songs I've linked.
That we devolved to anonymity verses mere non-involvement is what it is.
In many ways, considering our ever-changing world, the Weekly Standard is just that.
But, sadly, and not just because I appreciate Helen and truth not as it was or were or will be but just as truth is, which isn't other than everything else (or is it and provide proof) unBuckley.
Lower yourselves now. To my definitions. Like Marx as you were.
54 comments:
The first line of my autobiography would be, "I lied when I said I'm not stalking deborah, and I am very sorry about bad park me so muchly."
Silly whim.
Don't call me Ishmael because that ain't my fuckin' name.
"It's pretty fuzzy now, and what I can remember is kind of hard to believe, but I was born a poor white child in a crumbling rat infested house with the more than adequate luck of it being in the greatest nation in the history of the world."
"Elmer Gantry was drunk and so was I."
"They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step and this autobiography will be much shorter than that."
"I told myself not to eat the paint chips peeling from the windowsill, they probably wouldn't taste good, but the way they came off as I picked at them, they were irresistible, I couldn't help it, and turns out I was right, they don't taste good."
I was erased from an early age.
I knew something had gone wrong because the first thing somebody did was hit me.
And I hadn't even done anything.
Yet.
"They call me just a loose cannon on the deck of life."
PS: Ahem, let me amend that opening sentence: I was ALWAYS just a loose cannon on the deck of life.
Once upon a time...
Unless there are pictures, I will deny it all.
"It all started in a china shop on the deck of tall ship in high seas with a loose canon and a bull. They named me "Pandemonium"
"I was born with one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave."
It's all about ME. ME. ME!
I was erased from an early age.
Wow, that's genuinely intriguing. I'd want to read further to find out who this cat is.
What was my life, a mist that appeared for a little time and then vanished.
The bright light burned my eyes and I heard a voice that said, “Do you remember anything?”
What was my life, a mist that appeared for a little time and then vanished.
No mist, no next generation. ;^)
Unless there are pictures, I will deny it all.
Thank god for Photoshop...
it was a dark and stormy night, and I intend to offend.
Double posted comments drove me to commit terrorist acts..
Most people know me only as Nick Spinelli, PI; something I resented. being a PI was what I did for over 30 years, it was not who I am.
I was born at a very young age at hospital where my mother was also a patient. I wanted to be near her when it happened. When I'm asked "What sign were you born under?" I tell the truth: Emergency Entrance.
Trooper York said...
Don't call me Ishmael because that ain't my fuckin' name.
Lighten up, Ishmael.
Most people know me only as Nick Spinelli, PI, but that's not who I am, and I'm not even sure why they call me that.
"In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since: "Son, don't give people unsolicited advice. It just makes you seem like a dick.""
"It was all downhill after the fifth grade ... "
"I did not kill Trotsky."
Sometimes I can't believe I'm still alive.
You could, were your want it, make a case that the whole "Bing it" derives from Bring It but you would be wrong as 'That's Me'.
"About who?"
"About whom?"
Sometimes, when I recollect upon those happenings, I die inside again.
Some of you are pretty funny!
I was born senile, hence the bubblegum story.
Bags under her eyes, I chipped in and bought pasta for all the troopers educating the Dutch; as in Dutch oven.
As I watched "McLintock!" I pondered whilst reconciling my (abridged) ponderings.
Remember what you do is by life limited; here is intended to convey both the concepts of life's limitations and the limitations of the individual, of which I am one necessary.
So, because twice I had simply misheard, I was tricked out of both looks and brains. Still I might have had a chance if it hadn't been for what happened next...
Paddy, When I did undercover work I had several aliases w/ a tracfone. Sometimes, as I picked up the phone, I couldn't remember my name. I had one favorite alias but you have to switch up sometimes. So, I would answer w/ a cautious "hello" and wait for them to ask, "Is this Bill?" Or, "Is this John?" etc. Then I knew. So, your comment rings true.
So, because twice I had simply misheard, I was shit out of luck on both looks and brains. Still, I might have had a chance if it hadn't been for what happened next...
"All I ever wanted was to be the guy who offed Ted."
Ted reminded me, as Ted was a configuration, of my beloved dog Barnett.
I named Barnett after Dean.
Dean Barnett was a good man, worthy of much more than me naming my dog after him.
Mr. Dean Barnett deserves no less though than someone somewhere naming their dog after him, and I will let you know right here and now Barnett supersedes all expectations-greatness be damned (as it were) as far as recognition.
Piss-eyed to the wind I shat; once.
No fewer than thirty lives later all I could think was "fuck me" as drama, in form of severe contemplation, developed Romney.
Or McCain.
Or the next Bush.
Let's do some "die slow motherfucker" or "my 44 make sure all y'all kids don't grow" or am I offending this comment home by linking Tupac, at Tupac's worst (recorded) and my best (another free day).
Althouse allowed via her comments me linking Tupac a bunch.
I respect that even though I hate the lyrics of "Hit 'Em Up" and other songs I've linked.
That we devolved to anonymity verses mere non-involvement is what it is.
I hope only you suffer that which you seek.
In many ways, considering our ever-changing world, the Weekly Standard is just that.
But, sadly, and not just because I appreciate Helen and truth not as it was or were or will be but just as truth is, which isn't other than everything else (or is it and provide proof) unBuckley.
Lower yourselves now. To my definitions. Like Marx as you were.
That cunt Vanderleun; everything I say he thought, processed the thought, then proceeded.
I just said shit.
This is other than shit.
Try it yourself »
Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, and yet I seem to have landed on my feet.
... the end.
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