Revenge on my proclaimed future self, Prometheus V.
Greasy bastards, dirty whores, slovenly dressers, cock-eyed fucks, dill-holes, mouth breathers, knuckle draggers, corn-holers, pig-eyes, shit heels, ass-grabbers, runny-nosed nerds, gum-smakin' bitches, loud mouths, fuck sticks, dummies, fatties, chubby fingered midgets, albino asians, and anyone who knows who Stiv Bator is.I can't really complain with the list my proclaimed future self has put together, but I will add one: A green skinned, dark haired, woman of considerable fitness and knife wielding ability. Oh, and she needs to wear a net body suit...
The death knell of Prometheus V. Oh, and I really dig The Cult. No one rocks a live show like those bastards.
The footage of me dismembering my future self, Prometheus V. It hasn't happened yet, but when it does I'll film it and watch it over and over. Then again, if he's my future self, what happens if I kill him... me... I haven't really thought this through... Fuck it. Kill the bastard.
Yeah, yeah, I enjoy some TV, but I refer to the previous question. I'm a little sidetracked with some deeper issues.
The Hearty Breakfast Church of the Sane and Simple guide to life and cookbook is in the works.Damn! I was going to say otherwise, but that sonofabitch has some good recipes. Oh, yeah it's out. I've read it. Try the barbeque chicken dishes and the cold soups.
Well...me.Again, damn! It's true. I did come back from the dead... I mean, who the fuck am I going to look up to?