Garbage time.

            That meant that there was not to be a fair rendering of the facts.

            Pane like window pane like WTTW,
Chicago’s Window To The World, their public TV station.

            Pane like a poetic reference as to what is going on with my testicles, pain.  Real funny huh – not.

            I trust what I write to be better Press than the public stations, though these are better than CBS, ABC, NBC, and FOX.  I cannot read the far left like the Communists, The Nation, and Common Dreams.  I scan the Huffington Post.  This Blog is the big time.  It is reporting, it is analysis.  And if you are paying attention it is more.

Chicago’s got my pen pal, and it had Michael Jordan.  Now we’ve got LeBron James and five days to celebrate that the Cavs, with Joe Tait and Zydrunis Ilgauskas are playing the NBA finals.

            Pane also reminds me of a foreign word for bread, like money, like sperm.  I’m in trouble, because Evil is stepping up to claim their prize.  We will see their reward, and right now it looks like the bad guys win.

            You know the Catholic priests have a Gay problem, and I wrote about their rare hooker problem.  I prayed for a good outcome for the vendetta lady, and now my life is worth shit because I’m in so much pain and my urologist is good for nothing.  He’s not going to like Universal Health Care or Socialized Medicine.  These people have another thing coming.

That may be it, or was going to be.  But since I’m claiming press, and I am anonymous, the number one 12 step program sucks.  I could not drink their coffee, it was literally poison.  I did not give them their dollar per meeting therefore, and instead of helping me deal with life on life’s terms, I was treated to rambling ignorant self indulgent black time wasters.  I was verbally insulted by these same.  And the romantic interplay that did not go on earns them the label of “Gay A.”

            Fuck you shits who made the movie The Quiet.  You gave the incest father the death penalty.  Make Love not War.  You are sick.  The movie was sick.  Edie Falco has a beautiful body and she got the approval to make this confusing movie.

            I was going to phone this new poet lady, but because of my pain I could not carry this tune that my life was worth living.  Hence, she gets a pass.  Maybe tomorrow.

            I should comment to my number one blogger lady.  She dumped boyfriend dude.  She gets the benefit of any doubt, and I look forward to her future adventures.

            I, I, I bought this pork because I was angry and last time the sausage made me feel better.  Here’s to poet ladies everywhere.

            I follow PBS news, Charlie Rose, Tim Russert, and the McLaughlin group.  It’s not original and it has been depressing.  I’ve got my finger in the wind, and another in the dyke.  Peace. 


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