August 25th, 2001

Playing with your honey-tool is the first step to recovery.

I'm still wearing my hospital bracelet from the smashy incident on Sunday. My shoulder still hurts, too.

Several successful milk-crate heists have resulted in a most ellaborate dresser/bookshelf unit. In a way I want a real dresser, (All the better to cram stuff in) but the sheer ghettoness of the milk-crates is soothing and enjoyable in a way bordering on perverted.

During a brief visit today my mom commented on all the virgin Mary and angel statues we have. (The kitchen is practically slathered in them.) I kinda shrugged. She asked if we got them or they were gifts. I murmured something about us getting them. To which I get: "Yeah, I guess it's safer, this is an Italian neighborhood." What I want to know is, 1) where is my mom getting her crack? 2) "Safer"? Are the neighborhood Italians gonna run us out of town, or make us sleep with da fishes if we don't "pass" as X-ians? and 3) What does she think these people will be doing in my kitchen?!

And oh yes. Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back isn't worthy to kiss Dogma's ass.
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