Summer: the feasts of all feasts

Look! A giant Jesus is all the family you need!

Ahh, the desolation of summer. You may be completely free, but without a car to drive, or a large manpowered submarine with wheels that has a picture of a finger painted on the periscope, you're trapped in a world of nothingness and sharp shiny things. So what do you do?

Do you join a cult? Sure! If you join a cult, it's summer 24/7! 1 meal a day, labor that requires you biting things, and transportation is no matter, because ill be a skull-fucked french maid if you're leaving the camp! Ok, that was unappropriate. No cult then...

You could get a job you worthless glass of spunked-up carwash water! Go! Out into the world of the real! Where pants are required, as well as bloody necklaces of pens from First Union Bank.

So anyway, where was I? Oh yes. You see the shark that had been caught by the fisherman really had belonged to Billy. He did not know this though. For the small token of gold that the old man of the westeast had given him was tainted with a strong smelling acid that had been irrigated from the waters of Shanklonia. Now we all know that mysticism of goatgirls can be described fluently in Mandarin Chinese. I mean c'mon! What are you? Some kind of winged jar that has lowercase 4's sprouting from the pit it hath risen? Jesus... Anyway, all im saying is that a rash that big should not have come from drinking milk. Ok?

Oh how I loathe that sword-wielding mutant turtle...

As I was writing this, i left to eat my government rationed gruel. I restarted on this paragraph, so be forwarned that i have no intention of rereading what I have already written, to bind this update together as a single thought. After eating, I left to write in my diary, a.k.a. the side of Dave's house. In my journal, I pondered that occouence of winning the lottery and what I would do if a large amount of money was supplied by the state, instead of it helping older Pennsylvannians.

Now being a footsoldier of the evil Shredder in his quest to destroy the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and their instructor, Splinter, the first thing to be bought would be one of Ray Charles' hands.

Why may you ask? Because if the power of his hand can be obtained, I will reach maximum piano power and become: Piano-tor! Master Of Oblivion! My first act as this omnipotent steak knife of pleasure will be to banish all things belonging to the small headed, loud stomping, know....

Ok while Dan rambles on a little more, i'm going to conclude this conclusion with a conclusion, so in conclusion of this conclusion: stop reading or i'll hurt you.