Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Fantasy Island

Well, no one has killed our resident drummer yet, although I'm surprised he hasn't sustained some brain damage from his crappy percussion skills. (Or maybe he has, and that's why he no longer recognizes that his behavior is socially retarded at best.)

Sigh. Sometimes it's too bad vigilante justice is, for the most part, illegal.

I wish there was a way to pipe recordings of all of Hegel's works into his apartment, or something, especially in the middle of the night.

No wait, scratch that.

Bilateral amputations at the metacarpals. Without anaesthesia.

That'd do the trick.

Still seething with rage, I'm off to nibble at food and try to hone my death ray glare.

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