Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Ryan and Brody ditched-by jon

Fuckin' Guys,
Here, emancipated, and taking in the delapitation of tyler's home (i'm sooooo drunk because i am forced to drink by myself), i've come to the conclusion that the actions of Brody and Ryan have made the Four Writters divisible by 2. Ya that's right, when you divide 4 by 2 you get 2....2, lonely 2....

4 comments:

  1. Leave the comfort of your dark cave only to swim in a pool of your own blood and filth... And drinking too intoxication is irresponsible and leaves a bad taste on your reputation... I throw that out there because I care...

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  2. you dont care PADP, you only mean to destroy us! no one listen to his lies. his words are laced with manipulation and deception!

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  3. PDAP (if I may use such a crude hack of thy name) is not a his, but a hers. Still hers words are fouled with the feel of wet stank and miserable lunges. Yet the innocent joust of a caring gesture provokes such thoughts that I may consciously look upon thy acts I take to thy liver and the awkward jabs I hand my fellow writters.

    On a slightly detouring note, I'm growing greatly concerned by the presence of PDAP. This post modern diesel baron presents herself or itself or whatever, as a force to destroy our very club, which is based upon our fundamental ideals to control peoples thoughts. All I can take comfort in is knowing that PDAP has existed in a future year, beyond my planned death (as according to the estimation on my birth certificate); hence the world well continue to exist for the duration of me existing. I can also request comfort in knowning* that if this textual output is somehow lost, I still have my sneaky diary which I can force people to read. Once they are controlled by my words I can use my newly gained freedom to steal the things in their pockets.

    * All spelling mistakes are intentional, therefore you can refer to them as Spelling successes.

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  4. The tables have turned... The gun is my thoughts and the bullets my words... Let the hot lead sit inside your filthy guts... (I couldn't really think of a crazy wicked metaphor and this one is kinda cliche but I'm just gonna go with it for now, but keep your eyes out for some sinister mean ones)

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