Jukebox.

Dec 26, 2002 14:44

“I still maintain that I’ve nothing to do with it ( Read more... )

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awakeandreaming December 28 2002, 17:53:30 UTC
who are you? and what are you doing in my journal?

thanks for letting me know about that mastadon guy. now he's even COOLER!!!!!!!! get real.

"Timothy, the singer guy from Mastodon, does not actively partake in the narcotic cocaine. He does, however, snort some stuff he calls Tom Berringer, which is sugar and pixie stix. He does it all the time, and people think it's cocaine. He even does it around people who are actually doing cocaine and will say it's cocaine but it's just not cocaine. Sorry to put you out."

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The last of the privately ridiculous has found his equal. unburiable December 29 2002, 16:50:50 UTC
I think you must be sorely mistaken, Ms. Awakeanddreaming. Either this, or from the inside to most of your outer sides their is nothing left but that which is rotten. Figuring in that I played the part of the drummer in Mastodon for their first two records, I think I should be moved to comment on my friends' movements which much more alacrity than someone such as yourself. My pilgrimage from the greater Michigan area to Portland in the fall of last year is what initially prompted me to make my exit from the band, but we are still like siamese brothers, I'll have you know. It isn't that I felt you'd committed some great terror of passing in speaking of my friend snorting illegal cocaine powder, but that I just don't enjoy seeing my friends and brothers given the short stick. So please accept my gratitude for the spears and the fish hooked mouths. Please have directions to your father's grave shipped to my secretary and I will be sure to send a crate of crystallized vomit to the cemetery to be planted as hyacinths around the tombstone ( ... )

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roooar. awakeandreaming December 30 2002, 12:23:49 UTC
obviously, you have issues.

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I accept your fucking apology. unburiable January 1 2003, 11:51:42 UTC
Like, what the Hell are you even talking about? Issues? Of what, magazines, local court documentations? Before you start prescribing precipice and all that other Chicago jazz, I think you should take a long hard look at yourself in a mirror wide enough to catch every fat patchwork inch of you.

The Dillinger Escape Plan made an impromptu appearance at my friend Terwilliger's last night for the end of the fuckin' year and we each got so trashed I think we might just have to spend the next four months praying that we don't see the light at the end of the tunnel until we're damned good and fucking ready. So what did you do, huh? You probably prattled away in wicker chairs at home with two of your ugly friends and played checkers while screening television broadcasts of other people taking shit to the limits like it really should be.

You just don't understand.

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