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-- links -- cookbook Tuesday the 24th of April 2001 @ 8:10 p.m. So, I�ve been told this should be an entry. When me and Mal talk we inevitably suggest to each other that some thread of conversation just HAS to get written up. Here it goes. So, I go slug hunting on my patio at night. That�s right me and those little slimy bastards do battle just about every night around 9:00. I know they have there place in the ecosystem and all, and I respect that, it�s not like I�m applying some indiscriminate chemical of mass arthropodal genocide. Nope, me and my box of coarse kosher salt do just fine. I�m sure I�m Fucking my Karma, or something, and I should probably just �tell� them to leave as the witches suggested. (Ok, I�ll probably add that to my nightly ritual too.) LOL, Actually it will be more of an ultimatum. How�s this? �Get the Hell out of my garden, or you�ll end up like your friend here.� *read that with a 1940's, cigarette hanging off his lip, gangsters accent.* Um yeah, so basically I figure my nightly salting still leaves plenty for my little toady friend to munch on, and It does a relatively good job of protecting my more delicate patio plants. So, speaking of afore mentioned witches, did I tell you what the salt does to them? It�s really kinda gross. Cover your eyes and go �nah, nah, nah� through this part if your at all squeamish. The salt . . . Duh duh duh . . . �Melts� them. Like instantly. It lands on them and proceeds to pull the moisture right out of their poor, little, Mucus covered bodies. Right before your eyes even. Poor buggers. That�s the part that I think is Fucking my karma. Maybe if I throw some of the salt over my shoulder I will be okay. WE ALL FALL DOWN
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sticky note. mispelled The Finger Prints of God. Hugh Everett's Quantum Physics is tripping me out. Multiple Universes. Infinite multitudes of me me and you. It's like getten screwed with your pants still on! Once and Future favorite tunes |