Querida yo,
     Por favor, esta la cara que uso para obtener senoritas.
cuando estoy contigo
no me importe nada
solo tu carino
tus palabras
Cuando estoy contigo,
se cambia mi . . . etc., etc., etc.  y no recuerdo
el resto de las palabras a ese cancion.  entonces, tendre
pensar de palabras nuevas.
ahora, aqui son las palabras nuevas:
quiero entrarte entre tus . . .

I am so fucking tired of writing on this computer thingy for 
one night, but it doesn't look like i'm going to stop so
i'll keep on writing and typing left handring finger 
letters with right hand ring finger motions.  for example, 
if i were to type an "f" when I really wanted to type a "j",
i would have come up with a really expressful way of coming
up with an example.  See if you can read this, using the
same example . . . . . . . gy ywr lwv wj ; beu,g+++++
now, if you had been using your brain (ha, you say.  I never
use that!), you would have seen that every letter was typed with 
a certain hand, with a certain finger, and typed a certain
way.  however although the ways the letters were typed and
the fingers used were correct, the opposite hand was used.
If I were to have used my left hand, I used my right.  I
don't like people telling me what fingers to use on what 
keys and in what positions and so fourth.  but I only 
changed on e ittle characteristic to keep the reader's 
interest.  Even though I know the interest wasn't mine.

Have you ever wondered?  good.  wonder some more while all 
the cool people savor the moment.

Some guy once told me that ievery thing i wrote reminded him
of an unusually large penis on its way down to the grocery
store to buy some muffins.  I told him to fuck off.  Then he
did.  Then I had to change my clothes.  Literal fucking 
bastard.

My friend once told me that he dreamt that Madonna stuck 
her thumb up his ass and then sucked his foot off of his body.
then this girl said to his sister, "look who your asshole
brother brought home."  it would have been funnier if she 
had said, "look who your asshole brother brought home.  Go 
smell her thumb." None the less, i hope he enjoyed himself.

Next day he drew some scribbles on a piece of paper and they
came to life and offered him services.  he declined.  good
boy.

     I ran away from home once because I didn't want to do 
my homework.  I first ran across the street, and sat in the
shadow of a telephone pole for a little while.  Soon I
started walking down the street.  After I was down a ways, I
saw my brother back i the distance yelling to me.  I kept 
on going.  
     I turned down a side street and kept walking.  after 
repeating that step two or three times, I met this kid.  He 
asked me where I was going, and I pointed diagonally up and
said, "there."  There was an old abandoned mental hospital 
in the next town over, right on the line.  You could see it
from any point in my town if you got up high enough. Well, I
told him that that's where I was going.
     I turned left down this other side street a few minutes
later.  these two teenagers were sitting on the porch of a 
house, kissing.  I looked a them as I passed them by, then I
looked back a couple of times, each time with a cheesier 12 
year old grin on my face.  After I had passed the house,
some kid yelled at me.  "yeah, it's big stuff, istn't it,"
is what he yelled.  No, I did not look back.
     Finally, I turned on to Commack Road.  commack Road had
two lanes; one for each direction of traffic and the two 
were separated by a broken yellow line.  The street was
surrounded by woods, and it wasn't smart to be walking down
the road in this part of town even i the daylight if there
were woods around.  Now for me, it would be dusk soon.
     I decided to skip going to the abandoned mental 
hospital where I could get raped, killed, or thrown down an
elevator shaft, and instead went into this park.  I walked 
down the path into the park, and I sat down at this swing
and started swinging . . .  and singing to myself.
     No sooner than I had started did a young boy ask me,
"are you retarded?" "No," I said.  "Then why do you sing
when you swing?" He asked again.  His older brother said to
him, "shut up.  There's nothing wrong with singing while
swinging."  Well, we all started talking, and we went to 
another area of the park.  We started making little men and
women out of sand and making them fuck. we were all loud 
about it too.
     Then, while we were talking, I told them that I had
left home because I didn't want to do my homework.  The 
younger boy asked me, "are you a runaway?"  I sort of
liked the title so I told him, "yeah, I guess I am."  Soon
they left, and I again was left alone.
     The rest is kind of a blur (kind of a blur is another
term for none of your business).  I guess I turned out.  I
turned WAY out.  That was a joke.





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