Can we put you down for one? Twenty minutes in I
stopped it.
More than I care to name here. The bass was
phenominal as were the highs. This is how jaded we are. You can kiss it goodbye, Mr.
I took out the laptop, fumbled with enough tape and plastic to suffocate a blue
whale and finally plugged them in.
Rather, I stood as if in an inter-dimensional
portal to perfection.
Religion must be stopped. Twice that day, I said
Cooter.
Just helped a little with memory. The goatee I keep
long now, accented by the short beard running up the sides.
I decided on the more thought approach. Now see,
Chicken Lady and Roscoe?
Sensory overload of the worst kind.
Right now, I wish it were something a little less
heavy. Asking for marinara felt like busting the entry line in prison. Every last
one of you claims the largest voice and data network in the country.
The sad thing was that the price was right. The web
industry is one of the few regularly hiring and somehow sustaining
ranks.
You can kiss it goodbye, Mr.
Again, you picked the suit, pal.
You all claim few dropped calls.
The media for shirking responsibility to the level
it has or the American people for allowing it to happen on our dime.