Whis is kind of like saying it doesn't take much. A bunch of random pictures slapped hapazardly onto an old peice of cork board my ex refused to take off my hands with tape. But the fucking thing makes me grin like i did when i unwrapped Milk Chan on christmas. Makes me yearn for phone numbers, the ones i lost on purpose, the one's i'd probably never use. this is going to be so fucking easy, i don't know why i didn't try it sooner. (i have to tell myself that.) But Madlib makes it all better. He's just the right kind of distraction for any kind of break you may need. So fucking creative it makes me want to cry. Let's all get on the fucking band wagon Shams. Office wide smoking ban. We can find better ways to amuse ourselves anyhow. What did the french do with the Jazz to make it sofaking good?? someday i'll go to paris, go to one of those seedy dark Jazz bars in some basment of off some alley, and dance and smoke and drink until i have a heart attack. i need to watch where my fingers go. this bitch is sensitive. everyone should watch Fantastic Planet right now.
Don't forget to keep track of how many times you say: "What the fuck?!"
fin.
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