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hey joe, click on pope for funny humor time!

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well, everybody's heard about the bird. bird bird bird, the bird is the word!

hey guy, this is hot rock sound for you america joe! rock a casbah all night every day! we will dance like 1999, more dollar in juke box, yes?

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talkin' to my alter, said life is what you make it

and if you make it death, well rest your soul

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All The Classics They Made You Read In High School - RIGHT HERE! ON THE HEAD OF A PIN!

I Let My Thirsty Boots Wander All Over And They Come Home With Lies About Women 01:23am 22/04/2002 mood: high music: Sugar - "Your Favorite Thing" At last, back in the fat gut of Vegas. The latest leg of the promo tour is over. Dead. Miss him, miss him. Layne Staley left us... no doubt on one last opiate cloud. We all ride the horse til it eats us. So nice to be back in the NV, where Dr. Robert hooks me up. That's right, bob, it's that that damn scurvy again. What you say, hydrocodone? I agree. Nothing like a bath of fire to get this deep down dirt outta me. I feel half human again. Time for a bath, some incense, and something that will synthesize to morphine in my brain. Player hate all you'd like. You will be mowing my lawn next week. Post Something's telling me that something isn't right... 10:17pm 17/04/2002 I ache... all over. Modelo. Imported cheap beer from Mexico. May you always be free from your pain, my friend. May I. It's hard to keep your head up sometimes. It's hard to keep yourself from watching it all implode and enjoying a front-row seat. I fell asleep in the back of a cab tonight. I was on my way back from somewhere. Where? I have no idea. I don't know how I got there in the first place. I have a scrap of paper in my pocket with a number on it. Whose? I don't know. I don't care. I threw it away, then I set the trash can on fire. From what they tell me, I created quite a scene at the bus terminal. Apparently I was down there ranting and raving something about an ulcer and how it's "everyone's fault." The only thing I remember is ordering a strawberry shake at Jack In The Box. I walked up to the drive through speaker and ordered. Then I wandered up to the window. They refused to serve me because I wasn't in a vehicle. They made me come in and get my shake. Morons. I drank half of it then threw the rest at a Mercedes that almost hit me when I was walking down the sidewalk. Tim and my manager came and got me after security at the bus terminal called the hotel upon me handing them my digital room key and telling them they should all go order drinks for us. Depressants and depressants make us all smaller than ants. Some of the pills make the woods big. I hope I sleep well tonight. Post They tell me I need to shave. 03:35am 15/04/2002 Ahh... hygeine. Hi Gene. Hello Gene. Gene, can I bum a cigarette off of you? The days have become days and the hours have become a haze. The cigarettes have become few and the crew grows restless and weary. I sense a mutiny. Actually, I sense some fun at hand. It's nearing 4 in the AM and I just realized that my manager left the keys to his rental Cadillac on the dresser in my room from when he was in here earlier begging me not to get us thrown out of another hotel. ::looks at keys:: I believe my journal entry on the events of the day will have to be put on hold for now. I have the Caddy keys in my hand and I am about to head out the door to the parking lot. Wanna come? j. Post He's Been Knockin' - He Won't Leave Me Alone 12:20am 14/04/2002 mood: amused music: Guns N' Roses - "Mr. Brownstone" I used to do a little but the little wouldn't do it, so the little got more and more. You know the routine. What is this? My fifth day of press and promotions? I don't know. It's all been a blur of drinks with umbrellas in them, stupid questions, white noise, swallowing anything I can get my hands on, photographs, photographs, photographs, photo sessions, and wearing the same leather pants for... uh... three days now or something. The guys from this local blues-rock outlaw band found out I was staying in town. They showed up at my door with instruments. I kid you not. The roadie guy had 3/4 of a full drum kit even. I was like, sure. 20 minutes later, me and the guys in Blind Concrete are ripping the lid off of a cover of "Train Kept A Rollin." 5 minutes after that, we were officially asked to leave the hotel. My manager and Tim tried to talk the uptight manager guy down and slip him some more bills like the other night. No dice. We're in a better place now anyway. That place was a hole. I told them that. When we left, I upturned the huge free-standing ashtray next to the elevator and dumped the like ten pounds of sand from it in the elevator. I was so proud. It was like art. I congratulated myself with a smoke in the lobby next to the "no smoking sign." I don't worry about nothin' no, cause worryin's a waste of my time. Damn straight. We got here a couple hours ago. Mick the crew security guy and I turned a garbage can over at the end of the hallway of the hotel and chipped balls from 150 feet away with a 9 iron for 20 bucks a game. You had a choice, 2 points for chipping it in, or you could use the putter for 1 point. Each guy got 10 shots per round, and of course i kicked his ass and took all his money. You gotta keep pushin' for the fortune and fame. At least that's what they keep telling me. My toenails have turned a weird color... almost like mother of pearl. No joke. They did that one time when I was on shrooms. Time for more butals and some vodka/Gatorate bastard cocktail goodness. I think I'm liking this hotel a whole lot better already. The guy in the next room seems pretty cool. I guess he's from some video game company and here on business. I talked to him in the doorway of his room and saw like 40 empty bottles of Amstel and two huge family-sized jugs of some deluxe Tequila on his table. He's gotta be alright. I should have him over later for cocktails and tranquilizers. I gotta split. Room service is here. Oysters on the half-shell. Hell yeah, cousin Jim. jack.rake Read 2 - Post We Were Voodoo 05:07pm 13/04/2002 mood: confused music: David Bowie - "Ziggy Stardust" I woke up this morning not knowing where I was. Someone from this traveling circus knocked over the lamp in the corner and someone made really bizarre sculptures out of wire coat hangers in the closet. One of the creations looks like a monkey. Strange. I woke up lying on the floor next to the air conditioner by the window. I still have no idea where my sunglasses went. Someone knocked on the door a bunch of times this morning. Finally I rolled over and yelled, "I killed them all, go away." That stopped them. My three o'clock interview with some stupid magazine went about as well as a root canal. Two questions in the idiot asks me if my Jackson Rake "persona" interferes with who I "really am." I asked him if being a jackass helps him succeed in life. He liked that. I spent the next 20 minutes making up lies to answer the rest of the questions. These people are prostitutes of the pen. They need to listen for a while and stop talking so damn much. I also told him that he looked like Gene Simmons without his makeup on. He didn't seem to like that so much. Piss on these people. I pay their paychecks. I told him to go get me another drink from the hotel bar. It took him 17 minutes to get back with it. I said if it was going to take that long he might have at least brought me a few drinks. He reminded me that he didn't work for me. I told him to piss off and told him to leave. He did. I'm sure I'll get good press from that rag. Took me 10 minutes to convince the ass at the front desk to have a new TV brought up to my room. They were taking the old broken one (with full-on shattered screen) out of the room and I said, "No leave that here too!" They looked at me weird and set it back down. I want to plug that sucker in and do high-voltage experiments with it tonight. See what I can do with it. Whatever. Enough of this nonsense. I'm going to figure out where the pool and sauna in this place are. Post Snorting Whatever Is Crushed Up On The Nightstand 08:48am 13/04/2002 I have no idea. For all I know the freaking maid left Boraxo on the thing. I just did like Ozzy and the ants. SNNNNNNNNNHHHRRRRFFF. Gone. The phone kept ringing. People wanted interviews. I asked how the hell they got the number. What a bunch of callous people. What kind of gall. I gave one guy a quote and said print that. He won't be able to print it. I think you can only say SOME of those things in magazines. Anyway. So I took the phone, yanked the cord and stomped it. Another knock on the door. Yeah, everything's fine. No I don't need anymore towels. Have room service send up another couple of those fruit platters. YES, the ones I had before. Dumb. It turns out I DID have another bottle of 50 butalbitols in my leather bag. Yes. Even less tension. I turn up the stereo. One speaker in the room here, the other stretched so far into the bathroom that the speaker wire almost clotheslined Bill the photographer guy. He was here doing something for Concrete Viking magazine. Whatever. The speakers have just enough hiss. Ahh... analog. White noise. The guy in the next room loves it. I just know it. I'll turn it up for him. Yes, I would hawk anything for a buck. And I did. And you bought it. So turn off the TV and read an old book by some dead guy who did more before he was 20 than you will do in your whole life. Your friends are pretend, Gen X! Post Making Food Stains On The Hotel Furniture 02:14am 13/04/2002 mood: annoyed music: Velvet Underground - "Heroin" I don't have much to say right now. My manager says we need to work on new promotions. I told him to get some of his lackeys to do it. He pushed me to do this journal deal linked from the website. Okay, if the kids like it, whatever. Gravy Train. The hotel manager just yelled at me and I told him where to go. I told him I am his boss. I let him know that. I got beer and food all over the laptop. Who cares. I'll charge it to the label and tell Tim to go get another one. I am sitting here and the keys are sticky with champagne, beer, and food. I think there is some blood on the desk in this hotel room. I already broke the TV. I love standing on top of those things and jumping off them while they're on the dresser. Interactive entertainment. I pimp Mary Hart. Shut up and go listen to the Pixies, moron.

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chloe don't know better. chloe's just like me, only beautiful.

It's MEAT.  It's GOOD.  It's NEAT. pete foosis is an ass