Because there's no such thing as too much cheese. Unrolling the braciole of consciousness; shaping the meatball of life. Because everything is funny; you just need to view it from the proper angle. Good for cats. Made in Poland. Because everything is like a hat. You know how those gorillas can be... Very unforgiving.

Friday, June 18, 2004

The mental illness that has no name...

Steve, you need meds.

Between my homicidal lunchmeat and your soylent cheese, we can make quite a sangweech. And by that I don't mean taking a freshly-caught squid, smacking it around and sticking it inside focaccia bread. (Comments, Vito?)

I have a vague memory: it was Christmas Eve. We were in Brooklyn. We ate cheese. Or was it fish? Large men stood in bitter cold air to raise a fire to the star-lit skies.

Steve: this is for the doctorate. Please complete your dissertation on Comparative Mastandrea by linking the imagery and traditions of Christmas Eve 1989 and BazzukaJoe's bachelor party of 2003.

C'mon, show us the heft of your intellect (but please, don't show us the heft of anything else).
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