Hi, this is something i've never done before cause i've always been antisocial but to anyone reading this, wether you're 8, 16, or 56, I want to be friends with you. So anyone wanna talk to me? I'm boring but I can answer your questions. Plus, my friends think i'm funny so yeah :D


Ps. Anybody here who want to add me on fb?

Celebrates
Black History

Whilst walking down the street
I heard a thunderous tweet;
'Twas a straining little bird
Who couldn't pass a ****.

The little thing was constipated,
Its **** wide dilated;
Tweeting loudly in mid-bog,
Trying to eject a log.

I observed with sympathetic heart
As it trumpeted out a ****;
Straining, chirping loud and long,
Letting off a foul and noisome pong.

I watched for nigh an hour
Its display of **** power;
Then a final intestinal pump
Produced a huge great steaming lump:

A mighty ball of faeces
(a giant of its species,
and total bumhole splitter
which shattered its feathered *******).

Today, I was sitting on the SEPTA, on my way to work as usual.
Suddenly, a Secane Bro appeared. This wasn't just any bro, it was a special breed, rare and only to be found at the Secane station between the hours of 7 am to 9 am and again from 4 pm to 6pm.

These are the Indian research bros.

They come in with gelled hair, starched shirts (ranging from pink, sorry, salmon, to white) and the indelible odor of Indian cooking and men's cologne.
For a more science-driven bro, a heavy backpack is essential, while the cooler bros have headphones and briefcases.

The bros are often self-conscious and gang together.
They rarely have a female companion, since such a thing is against the bro-code. They always sit together, or at least in the same car.

Most of all, the bros have hope.
They are ambitious,
flying fish in the dreary SEPTA morning atmosphere,
zealous believers willing to jump
through whatever loop and
hoop to get their own piece of the
American dream.

Dream on bros, dream on.

Here come the omen
Things for those mischief

Then. . .

The wind approached them with his coax
Indeed, love was his arms
But those imp mistreat his word of care

Now. . .

There they are in the land torrid
Where they've learned to beg
They've shouted "Let us Die"
But no ear listen
Alas! They've learned to cry

Regrets, If only they've heeded the counsel of the wind
Be punished not with eternal pain
They've asked for mercy again and again
But apocalypse's way... stayed the same...

Written: November 18, 2000 @ 6:30 pm
Mysterious Aries

Trapped inside this place called home
Never allowed to wander alone
Four more years am I'm on my own
Can't you let me get a taste of the real world?

Hours and hours with nothing to do
Watch TV
Read a book or two
Same routine,
Day by day
Mommy, Daddy
When will you let me out to play?

Go out with friends
Have a smile
I promise I won't be gone a long while

Won't you have some faith
Have some trust
Know I won't do the things I must not
Your teachings are always playing in my head
So mommy,
Daddy
Can I go out with my friends?

There was a bottle
that she knew of, which
she filled to the brim.

I might be a filthy old rat
At least i know what fun is
And these day's
Old Prune's forget to have fun.
Thats why their dead by forty.
Ill live to 100.