Prof. Napier was the first person I've lost that was another atheist.
Death scares me a lot.
I can't sleep.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
In memoriam
RIP
Winston Napier
The professor I respected most.
The man who took me farther, faster.
The man that gave me Percival Everett. The man that gave me chaos. The man that showed me what an intellectual is, and what academia should be.
The man that gave me the tools. The man that kicked convention in the face. The man that likely made an atheist of me - not because he was a cynic, but because he demanded truth and didn't tolerate shortcuts.
In losing him, the world loses progress. He will be missed. Thank you for showing me what I could be. No, thank you for demanding it. Thank you for being so damn tough and so damn stubborn. Thanks for being you and to hell with anyone else.
Thanks for TEACHING me, dammit. More than any other teacher dared to. You're one of the only ones I actually cared about pleasing.
No one will forget you.
Winston Napier
The professor I respected most.
The man who took me farther, faster.
The man that gave me Percival Everett. The man that gave me chaos. The man that showed me what an intellectual is, and what academia should be.
The man that gave me the tools. The man that kicked convention in the face. The man that likely made an atheist of me - not because he was a cynic, but because he demanded truth and didn't tolerate shortcuts.
In losing him, the world loses progress. He will be missed. Thank you for showing me what I could be. No, thank you for demanding it. Thank you for being so damn tough and so damn stubborn. Thanks for being you and to hell with anyone else.
Thanks for TEACHING me, dammit. More than any other teacher dared to. You're one of the only ones I actually cared about pleasing.
No one will forget you.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Writing ain't cute
So I'm sitting in my apartment right now, sucking down another can of guarana and sugar swill, and I'm getting myself ready for a final intellectual purge as I grind my finals to a close and complete the final assignments of my undergraduate career. Tonight's flavor is fiction, and I've got a lot of it to write. As I fuel my increasingly-manic psyche with energy drink and pizza, I find myself looking back on a full year of writing workshops and I wonder . . .
Just what is writing to different people?
You can define it by pure mechanics, sure. It's taking a pen to a paper and producing ideas. But that's not real writing; that's the basics. That's comparing a baby's babble to a man's speech.
So what is it that drives people to be WRITERS, hmm? What makes them decide "I will do REAL writing. I will take a pen to paper and I will make something GREAT." What is it, hmm?
And I think back to my workshops, and I think about the people that probably WANTED to be writers. The people that do this as a choice, because writing is something they love and they want to be good at it. And I picture them working hard, and I picture them struggling, and ultimately I picture them as the ones that failed to impress me week after week.
Snobby? Maybe. But those writers that WANT to write - as much as I admire them - they're just inherently flawed. Or maybe they aren't flawed enough. Maybe they just have to work harder and push further than the rest of us. Maybe they're just missing something.
So I think about the writers that don't really WANT to write. I think about the writers that NEED to write. I think about the ones that blow me away - the ones that finish a chapter and it feels so good they need a cigarette. The ones that toss in their beds if their pens are pent up; the ones that fight it back like vomit.
People say that writing is something flowery and it isn't. People say it's something magical or inspired and it isn't. People think they can take it up because they want to and they can't.
Writing is an addiction. It's an escape. It's your dirty little habit. It's the drug problem that has your cousin sucking cocks in an alley. It's the scars on your girlfriend's thighs and the stains on your mattress.
Writing is a tumor; it's an ugly growth that throbs until it's drained and it gives you a headache when it rains.
Writing is your prayers, your orgasms, your gin, and your wife's black eye. Writing is the body in your trunk.
Writing is your nicotine. Writing is your flogging.
Writing is your best friend's sister when he's out of town.
There's nothing nice about. There's nothing charitable about it. It is what it is and you need it or you don't have it.
So now I'm going to write. Ignore what you hear and don't open the fucking door.
Just what is writing to different people?
You can define it by pure mechanics, sure. It's taking a pen to a paper and producing ideas. But that's not real writing; that's the basics. That's comparing a baby's babble to a man's speech.
So what is it that drives people to be WRITERS, hmm? What makes them decide "I will do REAL writing. I will take a pen to paper and I will make something GREAT." What is it, hmm?
And I think back to my workshops, and I think about the people that probably WANTED to be writers. The people that do this as a choice, because writing is something they love and they want to be good at it. And I picture them working hard, and I picture them struggling, and ultimately I picture them as the ones that failed to impress me week after week.
Snobby? Maybe. But those writers that WANT to write - as much as I admire them - they're just inherently flawed. Or maybe they aren't flawed enough. Maybe they just have to work harder and push further than the rest of us. Maybe they're just missing something.
So I think about the writers that don't really WANT to write. I think about the writers that NEED to write. I think about the ones that blow me away - the ones that finish a chapter and it feels so good they need a cigarette. The ones that toss in their beds if their pens are pent up; the ones that fight it back like vomit.
People say that writing is something flowery and it isn't. People say it's something magical or inspired and it isn't. People think they can take it up because they want to and they can't.
Writing is an addiction. It's an escape. It's your dirty little habit. It's the drug problem that has your cousin sucking cocks in an alley. It's the scars on your girlfriend's thighs and the stains on your mattress.
Writing is a tumor; it's an ugly growth that throbs until it's drained and it gives you a headache when it rains.
Writing is your prayers, your orgasms, your gin, and your wife's black eye. Writing is the body in your trunk.
Writing is your nicotine. Writing is your flogging.
Writing is your best friend's sister when he's out of town.
There's nothing nice about. There's nothing charitable about it. It is what it is and you need it or you don't have it.
So now I'm going to write. Ignore what you hear and don't open the fucking door.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Blinding you with Chaos
Ok, this one's pretty crazy. You may notice that it's a very complicated way of saying next to nothing. Such is philosophy, eh?
The term "chaos theory" is kinda loose now, being both a method of literary study and a mathematical term. There's also the familiar definition of chaos as an absence of rules. I'm combining 'em all!
Yep, I'm trying to sort out a unified Chaos theory. Why the hell not? Here's the first chunk, which I hammered out instead of sleeping for some reason. It may depress, annoy, or confuse you. I'm kinda pulling it out of my ass. Discordians need not fear, as we don't believe anything we read anyway. Also, supports atheism. Somewhat crudely. Real arguments forthcoming.
A Unified Chaos Manifesto. Roughest Draft. Part 1.
The term "chaos theory" is kinda loose now, being both a method of literary study and a mathematical term. There's also the familiar definition of chaos as an absence of rules. I'm combining 'em all!
Yep, I'm trying to sort out a unified Chaos theory. Why the hell not? Here's the first chunk, which I hammered out instead of sleeping for some reason. It may depress, annoy, or confuse you. I'm kinda pulling it out of my ass. Discordians need not fear, as we don't believe anything we read anyway. Also, supports atheism. Somewhat crudely. Real arguments forthcoming.
A Unified Chaos Manifesto. Roughest Draft. Part 1.
EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON.
Every. Fucking. Thing. No matter how small. I assert this as an undeniable fact. Every occurrence is the result of some form of causation, regardless of whether or not it can be easily identified. Take solace if you like, for a brief moment, in knowing that the universe is ruled by cause-and-effect, and that no event is random. Logically, the inverse is also true:
NOTHING HAPPENS WITHOUT A REASON.
The concept of “random” is an illusion – one I will address in the near future. So far, the argument is sounding pretty optimistic to any soul-searchers reading. This is easily halted with the final logical step.
THEREFORE, THESE REASONS ARE MEANINGLESS.
Just as good is defined by evil, reason can only be defined by an absence of reason. As I have asserted, there is no absence of reason in the universe (barring
Concepts are defined by their opposites. “Everything is meaningless” and “Everything has meaning” are identical statements. The concept of “death” cannot exist without a concept of “life;” it exists as an absence of life. It exists as an absence of its opposite. Similarly, “meaning” cannot exist without “meaningless,” and “reason” cannot exist without “random.”
Nothing is meaningless and nothing is random. Therefore, nothing has meaning, and there is no reason for anything. Welcome to Nihilism!
Indeed, Chaos is the inverse of Nihilism. Thus, it is practically identical.* Where Nihilism states “everything is meaningless,” Chaos states “everything has meaning,” and asserts that every little thing everywhere happens for a reason, and has an effect, however small and unnoticeable, on everything else. Both claims are essentially the same thing – one is just simpler. Dealing in Chaos is nothing more than dealing in complexity. A lot of complexity.
Now, what about variance? It’s easy to deal in black and white, but what about gray? Aren’t there varying levels of meaning? Aren’t there an infinite number of stages between “meaningless” and “meaningful?”
To you and I, yes. We measure things against our own standards and determine their significance for ourselves. We do not perceive a gust of wind to be on the same level as a nuclear explosion. We do not imagine a fly’s buzzing to be as important as the death of a president. This is human nature. Our values are subjective.
Our universe is not human. Our universe need not be subjective. Our universe does not depend on lies to survive.** It is ruled by objective Truth.
And what is True? To an objective universe, there IS no difference between the wind and an explosion. There’s no difference between a sun and your last exam. The size is irrelevant. They HAPPENED. They EXIST. They matter equally, which is not at all. A speck of dust and a galaxy are of the same importance to our universe. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t care. It just is.
And what’s that all amount to? What’s the point?
It’s just the nature of Nature, baby. Depressing or not, it’s reality. YOU are insignificant. The values by which you assign meaning are yours and yours alone. They do not apply to a larger power, or the universe at large. Whatever force of order or creation you may choose to call “God,” I can guarantee it cares nothing for you. Just as “physics” and “weather” care nothing for you. It’s a leap in logic that tries to turn “we came from somewhere” into “there is a being that cares for us.” There is no connection. It’d be nice, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Desire does not shape reality.
And as stated, the lack of a conscious creator does not imply random events. Nothing is random. If there is a God, then God is a system. A very complicated system – an equation – that has no feelings toward you or anything else. It would be perfectly acceptable to say that God is a big lump of math.
So have a nice day! Be humble and know that the universe in no way functions to suit your needs. It does what it does and you’re just adapting.
That’s the theory, anyway . . .
* Meaning “in a practical sense.” Not “almost.” Repeated hyperbole has twisted the common application of this word. If you don’t catch what I’m saying, you’re practically an idiot.
** I will develop this further soon. Humans are incapable of being objective and comprehending Truth. The Chaos argument defies the notion that “perception is reality.” Certainly, “seeing is believing,” but that doesn’t mean reality works the way you believe it does. I am aware of the hypocrisy; I am practically advocating it.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Pressure Cooker
There are rare moments in my life in which I am legitimately worried about myself. These moments are rare because I'm generally more concerned about the world around me, and how its shortcomings will somehow lead to my violent and embarrassing death.
Lately, though, I've been worried about me. On a very personal level. On a very intimate, face-to-face kinda level. A "hey, me. Sit down. We need to have a chat" level. Get the point?
I've let myself almost completely shut down. I'm slacking in all my work. I can't sleep most nights. I can't even write.
Frankly, my last real year as a student is coming to an end, and there isn't a single thing I'm looking forward to after that. And it scares me. Am I letting that fear paralyze me? Or is that just an excuse?
Pawel might be getting his graphic novel published. I'm incredibly happy for him. But it's also a bit sobering. Rather, it's like a splash of cold water in my face. Here I am, being a lump and not writing, and he's getting published. And I consider myself a writer? I wish I was half as motivated, but I barely know what the hell I'm doing with myself. As the song goes, "we hate it when our friends become successful . . ." because it makes us realize how much we're slacking.
Gonna try to make some headway on the novel this week. I'll feel a lot better if I can.
Likely skipping all of my classes tomorrow to write. I'm brilliant like that. Goddamn daylight saving's.
I think I've got myself pegged pretty well. I'm refusing to do work and apply for jobs because it's easier to pretend the year isn't ending. Yet despite recognizing this, I am unable to stop and fix the problem. Am I too clever for my own good, or an idiot? It's hard to say.
On a less serious note, Super Smash Bros. Brawl is awesome. I <3 Sonic.
Got a lot of shit I need to figure out. Very troublesome.
Lately, though, I've been worried about me. On a very personal level. On a very intimate, face-to-face kinda level. A "hey, me. Sit down. We need to have a chat" level. Get the point?
I've let myself almost completely shut down. I'm slacking in all my work. I can't sleep most nights. I can't even write.
Frankly, my last real year as a student is coming to an end, and there isn't a single thing I'm looking forward to after that. And it scares me. Am I letting that fear paralyze me? Or is that just an excuse?
Pawel might be getting his graphic novel published. I'm incredibly happy for him. But it's also a bit sobering. Rather, it's like a splash of cold water in my face. Here I am, being a lump and not writing, and he's getting published. And I consider myself a writer? I wish I was half as motivated, but I barely know what the hell I'm doing with myself. As the song goes, "we hate it when our friends become successful . . ." because it makes us realize how much we're slacking.
Gonna try to make some headway on the novel this week. I'll feel a lot better if I can.
Likely skipping all of my classes tomorrow to write. I'm brilliant like that. Goddamn daylight saving's.
I think I've got myself pegged pretty well. I'm refusing to do work and apply for jobs because it's easier to pretend the year isn't ending. Yet despite recognizing this, I am unable to stop and fix the problem. Am I too clever for my own good, or an idiot? It's hard to say.
On a less serious note, Super Smash Bros. Brawl is awesome. I <3 Sonic.
Got a lot of shit I need to figure out. Very troublesome.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
On mind over matter
Like most people, I occaisionally try to move things with my mind.
I open my hand and try to pull a glass toward me. Or I wave my hand and try to make it fly into a wall.
Sometimes I try to make my pen roll across a desk, or try to flick a light switch from across the room.
Sometimes I get excited and glare at a passing car, trying to make it flip into the air and crash a few feet away.
Pretty much nothing ever happens, except sometimes I get a headache if I try too hard.
Goddamn. I want telekinesis.
I open my hand and try to pull a glass toward me. Or I wave my hand and try to make it fly into a wall.
Sometimes I try to make my pen roll across a desk, or try to flick a light switch from across the room.
Sometimes I get excited and glare at a passing car, trying to make it flip into the air and crash a few feet away.
Pretty much nothing ever happens, except sometimes I get a headache if I try too hard.
Goddamn. I want telekinesis.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Discordian December
Winter is fucking depressing. Everything's dead and cold. The days are shorter. Relatives have that charming habit of timing their deaths with their favorite holiday. (Just one more! I'm gonna make it!)
AND FOR THIS REASON EACH MAJOR RELIGION DEVISES A WINTER FESTIVAL.
Chanukah. Christmas. Bright lights and gooey candles. Tacky shit on your neighbor's lawn that'll stay there until April. Something warm and happy to distract you from the fact that half the homeless people in the area are dying miserable deaths (the other half having gradually migrated to West Palm, Florida.)
So what of the children of Eris? What of her mighty Apple Corps? What of her loosely-or- completely non-organized and routinely ill-defined Legion of Dynamic Discord? (Or LOCNRILODD, for those that enjoy senselessly cumbersome acronyms, or SCA's.) What bizarre event exists to comfort them?
The Church of the Squishy Jesus (formerly the Church of the Pin-Striped Buddha) offers the following guide to celebrating a Discordian Crimbo. Call it what you like, (we call it Erisius) and don't believe a word that you read.
1) WHEN
The Church of the Amorphous Velociraptor (formerly the Church of the Squishy Jesus) holds its Crimbo between the 24th and the 26th of December, but only in fifteen minute intervals once every hour. These intervals are held at the top of each hour in the morning, and at the bottom of the hour in the afternoon. Wishing one of us a "happy holidays" outside of these times is considered extremely insensitive and offensive. Please note that this pattern is reversed for those living below the equator.
Discordians should generally celebrate their holiday whenever they damn well please, although they'll get more attention (and probably presents) if they do so at the same time as someone else's. It's effectively the same as planning a really big party on the same day as a friend's birthday, where the Discordian is the really popular kid and your friend is terminally ill.
2) PRESENTS
Discordians should feel free to accept presents from anyone for anything. The Church of the Dyslexic Omnivore (formerly the Church of the Amorphous Velociraptor) encourages its followers to "lie as needed" to appease generous would-be gift givers. Let your Jewish friends believe you're Jewish; let your Christian friends believe you're Christian. Many Discordians already belong to one of these "auxilary" faiths for one reason or another. Go with it. Your friends and God may judge you, but Eris won't. At least not for that. She does question your haircut.
A Discordian should only GIVE gifts if they feel like it. Find an old friend you haven't seen in a long time -- preferably one you don't know very well. Spend a lot of money on them. Spend much less on your family and friends. In fact, consider stealing from them to finance your other gifts.
3) MEAL
The Erisius feast is highly ritualized, much like the Jewish passover. Every dish is symbolic and should be consumed thoughtfully. A meaningful passage should be read aloud. (The passage may be selected from any text. The Principia Discordia is an obvious choice, but Frank Herbert's "Dune" is also popular.) The following should be consumed:
An apple - to represent the goddess, Eris.
Club soda - in rememberance of tonic water, which goes better with gin.
Gin - which gets everyone pretty sloshed.
Tonic water - because the first drink was awful.
A fig leaf - to represent genitals.
Nectar - to associate with butterflies, to associate with chaos.
Pizza - because everyone is still hungry, and way too drunk to cook.
This meal should always be consumed slowly, because it provokes thoughtfulness and good digestion. Also, a Discordian must avoid eating quickly, lest he be tempted to join an eating competition and sinfully indulge in large amounts of hot dog buns. This can be difficult, as members of the Church of the Ghost of Hayden Christianson (formerly the Church of the Dyslexic Omnivore) cannot enjoy the feast for more than fifteen minutes at a time.
Remember, all food MUST be prepared and handled by NON-DISCORDIANS. This is because Discordians cannot be trusted to wash their hands after each use of the bathroom. (I personally flip a coin.)
4) SINGING
We don't recommend it. You may sing some Erisius carols if you wish, or the Battle Hymn of the Eristocracy if you're too lazy to find one. Just don't bother to go carolling at other people's houses. Wait for carolers to come to you. Then, stand in front of them and sing back. Have some friends ready and drown them out. Repeat as necessary down the street, but don't stay out long. It's cold outside.
5) STORE GREETERS
Go off on each and every one. Phrases like "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays" are flagrant attacks on Erisius. If someone has the gall to say such a thing within range of your hearing, you should immediately launch into a vindictive tirade against ethnocentrism and commercialism. Alternatively, you may reply "Happy Erisius" in a snotty voice. Alternatively, you may punch them in the throat.
If possible, get your shopping done first.
6) GREETING CARDS
The Church of Tomorrow's Leper (formerly the Church of the Ghost of Hayden Christianson) offers a wide selection of Erisius cards to send to loved ones. None of them are particularly relevant to the holiday, and all of them are pornographic in nature. If you would like a box, go to your local post office and ask to see "the merch." Someone will know what you're talking about.
7) DECORATIONS
If you are not creative enough to come up with your own decorations, you have no business being a Discordian. There, I said it. The Church of the Wayward Skittles (formerly the Church of Tomorrow's Leper) officially advises you to "go nuts with ribbons 'n shit." If you have the resources, consider a giant, inflatable golden apple on your lawn.
8) CHURCH
Discordians do not pray (because it is dangerous) and therefore get to avoid this boring practice. Instead, consult your pineal gland to find the goddess, and then just say "hi." No one ever does that anymore, and she really appreciates it.
That's it! Follow these guidelines and enjoy a happy Erisius. Or don't. It doesn't matter.
The goddess prevails! Maybe.
-Pope Zoopers the Classy
Church of the Belching Otter (formerly the Church of the Wayward Skittles)
AND FOR THIS REASON EACH MAJOR RELIGION DEVISES A WINTER FESTIVAL.
Chanukah. Christmas. Bright lights and gooey candles. Tacky shit on your neighbor's lawn that'll stay there until April. Something warm and happy to distract you from the fact that half the homeless people in the area are dying miserable deaths (the other half having gradually migrated to West Palm, Florida.)
So what of the children of Eris? What of her mighty Apple Corps? What of her loosely-or- completely non-organized and routinely ill-defined Legion of Dynamic Discord? (Or LOCNRILODD, for those that enjoy senselessly cumbersome acronyms, or SCA's.) What bizarre event exists to comfort them?
The Church of the Squishy Jesus (formerly the Church of the Pin-Striped Buddha) offers the following guide to celebrating a Discordian Crimbo. Call it what you like, (we call it Erisius) and don't believe a word that you read.
CELEBRATING ERISIUS
1) WHEN
The Church of the Amorphous Velociraptor (formerly the Church of the Squishy Jesus) holds its Crimbo between the 24th and the 26th of December, but only in fifteen minute intervals once every hour. These intervals are held at the top of each hour in the morning, and at the bottom of the hour in the afternoon. Wishing one of us a "happy holidays" outside of these times is considered extremely insensitive and offensive. Please note that this pattern is reversed for those living below the equator.
Discordians should generally celebrate their holiday whenever they damn well please, although they'll get more attention (and probably presents) if they do so at the same time as someone else's. It's effectively the same as planning a really big party on the same day as a friend's birthday, where the Discordian is the really popular kid and your friend is terminally ill.
2) PRESENTS
Discordians should feel free to accept presents from anyone for anything. The Church of the Dyslexic Omnivore (formerly the Church of the Amorphous Velociraptor) encourages its followers to "lie as needed" to appease generous would-be gift givers. Let your Jewish friends believe you're Jewish; let your Christian friends believe you're Christian. Many Discordians already belong to one of these "auxilary" faiths for one reason or another. Go with it. Your friends and God may judge you, but Eris won't. At least not for that. She does question your haircut.
A Discordian should only GIVE gifts if they feel like it. Find an old friend you haven't seen in a long time -- preferably one you don't know very well. Spend a lot of money on them. Spend much less on your family and friends. In fact, consider stealing from them to finance your other gifts.
3) MEAL
The Erisius feast is highly ritualized, much like the Jewish passover. Every dish is symbolic and should be consumed thoughtfully. A meaningful passage should be read aloud. (The passage may be selected from any text. The Principia Discordia is an obvious choice, but Frank Herbert's "Dune" is also popular.) The following should be consumed:
An apple - to represent the goddess, Eris.
Club soda - in rememberance of tonic water, which goes better with gin.
Gin - which gets everyone pretty sloshed.
Tonic water - because the first drink was awful.
A fig leaf - to represent genitals.
Nectar - to associate with butterflies, to associate with chaos.
Pizza - because everyone is still hungry, and way too drunk to cook.
This meal should always be consumed slowly, because it provokes thoughtfulness and good digestion. Also, a Discordian must avoid eating quickly, lest he be tempted to join an eating competition and sinfully indulge in large amounts of hot dog buns. This can be difficult, as members of the Church of the Ghost of Hayden Christianson (formerly the Church of the Dyslexic Omnivore) cannot enjoy the feast for more than fifteen minutes at a time.
Remember, all food MUST be prepared and handled by NON-DISCORDIANS. This is because Discordians cannot be trusted to wash their hands after each use of the bathroom. (I personally flip a coin.)
4) SINGING
We don't recommend it. You may sing some Erisius carols if you wish, or the Battle Hymn of the Eristocracy if you're too lazy to find one. Just don't bother to go carolling at other people's houses. Wait for carolers to come to you. Then, stand in front of them and sing back. Have some friends ready and drown them out. Repeat as necessary down the street, but don't stay out long. It's cold outside.
5) STORE GREETERS
Go off on each and every one. Phrases like "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays" are flagrant attacks on Erisius. If someone has the gall to say such a thing within range of your hearing, you should immediately launch into a vindictive tirade against ethnocentrism and commercialism. Alternatively, you may reply "Happy Erisius" in a snotty voice. Alternatively, you may punch them in the throat.
If possible, get your shopping done first.
6) GREETING CARDS
The Church of Tomorrow's Leper (formerly the Church of the Ghost of Hayden Christianson) offers a wide selection of Erisius cards to send to loved ones. None of them are particularly relevant to the holiday, and all of them are pornographic in nature. If you would like a box, go to your local post office and ask to see "the merch." Someone will know what you're talking about.
7) DECORATIONS
If you are not creative enough to come up with your own decorations, you have no business being a Discordian. There, I said it. The Church of the Wayward Skittles (formerly the Church of Tomorrow's Leper) officially advises you to "go nuts with ribbons 'n shit." If you have the resources, consider a giant, inflatable golden apple on your lawn.
8) CHURCH
Discordians do not pray (because it is dangerous) and therefore get to avoid this boring practice. Instead, consult your pineal gland to find the goddess, and then just say "hi." No one ever does that anymore, and she really appreciates it.
That's it! Follow these guidelines and enjoy a happy Erisius. Or don't. It doesn't matter.
The goddess prevails! Maybe.
-Pope Zoopers the Classy
Church of the Belching Otter (formerly the Church of the Wayward Skittles)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
