Bus plunges off Andean cliff, killing at least 28

Oh, my Peru! - Bus plunges off Andean cliff, killing at least 28
I used to talk to the bus drivers, I would tell them "Slow the fuck down!" and "Have another cup of coffee! It's the rules!" but I guess they got tired of me screaming in their ears while they were driving with one knee and had a buxom Peruvian beauty on his other knee while one hand honked and honked the horn and his other hand groped mighty portions of the afore mentioned Pervian beauty, who we will refer to as Judy, although that is not her real name. The bus drivers are careless, rude, horny, selfish, uncaring, kinda hot looking, meat eaters, breeders, former goat farmers, and not pleasant to the eye or the nose. THey are to be avoided. Do what I do, hitch a ride or catch a cab. King - out.

Facing the facts

I turned 47 last week.
I am officially registered to vote, but I'm still not sure that I'm going to.
Nothing has cheered me in years like the Boston Red Sox.
My big toe on my right foot hurts. It's the toenail. I can't reach it, it's under the skin.
I dyed my hair red Wednesday. It turned out much darker than I wanted it to, and darker than the box said it would. At least it covered the grey.
My attempts to start a new band haven't been all that successful yet.
I'm out of coffee.
Man I love chilly weather. I don't sweat as much and I look so good in a jacket.
I wrote 2 songs this week, both with lyrics.
This is beginning to sound like Larry King.
My computer is OK now, but it's really old and cranky. I think I will call it "Mark".
Why can't I find a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball hat like they used to wear in the 70's? You remember, they were yellow with black stripes and looked kinda bee-like? I want one bad.
Where is my wah wah pedal? I can't find it anywhere? Didn't I get it back from Ben Watson?
I really wish I had a fat bag of weed. Or a skinny joint. Or some seeds. Or a Valium.
My window is open, and it's 40 degrees outside. Ahh...
I just passed wind. Noisy, but fragrance free.
I should never write a blog entry like this one ever again. Under penalty of law.

BUY MY NEW T-SHIRT! BUY MY NEW T-SHIRT?

BUY MY NEW T-SHIRT! IT'S A DOOZY!

Bread Boxed

Rye oh why? I will never know. I'm a stupid wreck. I'm a flashing can. Cannon.
Ham On Rye? All eggs fry. I'm a certain taste. I'm a buttonaire. Button.
Hang gang sang tang hang gang sang tang
Fly to fry? I don't know. I'm on permanent leave. I'm a walking bazaar. Bizarre.
Try die try? Whatever. Oh. I'm another guy. I'm the racontaure. Blimey.
Score sore tour floor score sore tour floor
Hungary? Toujour le monde. I'm a mechanical man. I'm the restaurantaur. Billy.
Ooh, going cole slaw.
Ah, feeling plenty.
Ooh, going cole slaw.
Ah, feeling plenty.

Rodent Wars On Jupiter

Young and hard and hairless, we're the Bannister Boys.
Driving home to bother you.
Dumb and loud and wreckless, we're the Hamburger Boys.
Trying to get a message through.
John and Keith and Harold, we're the Toeknuckle Boys.
Winking and just passing by.
Huge and green and slimy, we're the Jupiter Boys.
Rodent wars and worse oh my.
(repeat until neccessary)

Cat Scratch Stevens

I'm being followed by a moon shadow. Moon shadow, moon shadow.
Leaping and hopping on the Monsanto. Monsanto, Monsanto.
And if I ever lose my mouth, all my teeth all turn south,
And if I ever lose my mouth... wee waa woo woo wee, oh yea yea yeah,
I won't have to brush no more.

How cool is it to give up a million selling recording career for a religious conversion? Change your name, disappear, have an arranged marriage, to me it says mental illness more than God told me to. George Harrison found foreign religion but all he did was write songs about Krisha, but then again, he was probably insane from being a Beatle. The only other loonie I can think of here is Sinead O'Connor, but I always thought she was a bit touched in the head from the beginning of her career.

God has never spoken to me. I have never found religion. I think I live in fear of it, because I have seen what religious fervor can do. I think of God as a crutch, and church as an outdated meeting place. Maybe some day I'll wake up and Vishnu or Jesus or maybe all of them will be at the foot of the bed pointing and gesturing wildly. I sure hope not.

Morning has broken, like a dish or glass. Blackberry tea cups covered in sponge.
Pray for the teacup, pray for the dish or glass, pray that Bush isn't reelected, pray that the polls are wrong.