Not Talking About It. Thursday May 4, 2006

I’m not talking about it.

I’m not talking about it to anyone.

I almost phantom punched the poor Sunterra delivery boy in the elevator. I’m in no mood to hear anyone’s take on the game. I’m especially not in the mood to listen to the knowledgeable opinion of some sloppy soccer mom whose 15 year old kids still wets the bed. “Oh, I’m sorry they played bad last night …Well you’re a horrible parent”....

If I had a jet, I’d fly over to Stalin’s World and hide from society like an political exile.

Categories: The-Flames, The-Inane,

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