I met a little girl in Knoxville a town we all know well
And every Sunday evening out in her home I'd dwell
We went to take an evening walk about a mile from town
I thought of how she cheated me so I knocked that fair girl down
I picked a stick up off the ground and knocked that fair girl down
Oh Willy dear don't kill me here I'm not prepare to die
She never spoke another word I only beat her more
Until the ground around me within her blood did flow
I took her by her golden curls I dragged her round and round
Then threw her into the river that flows through Knoxville town
Go there go there you Knoxville girl with dark and rolling eyes
Go there go there you Knoxville girl you'll never be my wife
I rolled and tumbled the whole night through my dreams were living hell
And then they came from Knoxville and carried me to jail
I'm here to waste my life away and time is passing slow
Because I killed that Knoxville girl the girl I loved so
Visit the Knoxville Girl. I haven't read her stuff, but she's hot, in a green-eyed emo kinda way.
This might just be the best blog entry...evar. I don't say that lightly, as I consider my own work to be the zenith of western philosophy. But, realistically, aside from a few Oxford commas, what really differentiates the men from the boys in the quaintly-bemonikered "blogosphere"? You have the greats, no doubt: The "Velociman" does indeed "use his tongue purdierna two-dollar whore"*, if I may be so bold as to quote the belovd Slim Pickens vehicle, "Les Setts Flambs". Another great adventurer of the soul is "Protein Wisdom" who, though a Jew, manages to express his "ideas" in an art that doesn't scream "Catskills". Recommended, if only with certain obvious reservations.
*-'purdierna' is a term, probably deriving from the Latin, of comparative aesthetics from the southeastern United States that means, "more pleasing than". And yes, I'm drunk as I'm writing this.
As I noted last year, the unbridled hatred of George Bush makes me nervous. It's not hard to believe he'll be assassinated at some point. In order to defeat the bug, I said to myself as I was shaving this morning, you have to understand the bug. Speaking of shaving, I usually use a single-blade safety razor, like grandpa's, to shave with. Those things are downright dangerous once they get dull; you might as well wear an orange jumpsuit and sit cross-legged on the floor while you shave, exhorting your people to rise up against the oppressor and follow your example by also shaving their heads off, praise be to Allah. I can't find new blades anywhere; I guess I'll have to buy a new razor. So I thought of a few reasons to hate George Bush.
Reasons to Hate George W. Bush
A President needs to have a way with words. Bush...not have way
