Pop Tarts are no match for…
written 18 Nov 2004 in the late evening dusk
It’s very black outside of my window right now…millions of insects, those brave or adaptable enough to survive the arctic climes of today’s date, might be swirling not two feet from my face, but I’m not afraid. I have buildings and electricity and probably enough chemicals in various aerosol cans to kill them and ensure the demise of their descendants as well…
Toaster strudels.
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Good Ol' Days
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All quiet on the frontier...
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