Goodbye 4:00AM after-hours.
Goodbye 3:00PM breakfast.
Goodbye parking tickets.
Goodbye pleas for signature bridges and casinos or not.
Goodbye dreams of promising futures, proud pasts.
Goodbye rust and mold.
Goodbye all I've come to hate while learning to love.
Goodbye everyone that has expressed the same as I've thought and saved me the trouble.
Goodbye everyone that has become a significant part of the self I think I am.
Hello utopian nightmare.
I'm sure to run back with my tail between my legs soon.

Thanks to all that know they deserve it and those who don't.

The forth annual Anything but Clothes party will be held in and outside of Jon and my apartment this Friday evening around 9:00PM. Outfits should be designed to withstand hours of dancing and debauchery. Five dollars will get you access to the festivities and as much cheap beer as you choose to consume. Additional consumables may be purchased across the street at the We Never Close / Expensive Liquor Store complex. Duct tape and trash bags may or may not be availible at the door for the less creative / hopeless procrastinators.

If you're wearing clothes, don't come.

In response to Paul's post regarding police fundraising: this photo is from the bumper of a Buffalo Police car on Seneca Street. When we first saw it, we thought someone had stuck it on the back of the car without the knowledge of the driver and would be removed as soon as it was detected, yet the next police car we came across had the same sticker in the same location. In fact, every police car we past until crossing the Mainstreet-Dixon line, had these stickers proudly displayed. I have yet to come across one of these stickers on a police car in the blocks around Elmwood.




In case resolution was lost compressing it for the web, the sticker reads "Pay Police, like your life depends on it."

I had an apple, shiny, crisp, and sweet. This apple was perfect in every way. So perfect was this apple, that I could not bring myself to eat it. Today I woke up to find the apple had rotted from within and was now a slimy pile of rancid mush on the floor. Such is life.

My hands and my mouth need constant arousal. I will soon be hideously obese, or have one of the cleanest apartments this side of the Niagara. It is true that controlling the timing of my bowel movements during my formidable years gave me considerable pleasure and a sense of control over my parents. Our bathroom floor and kitchen table are interchangeable. I could eat with my toes if I were so flexible. Moderation has never been a friend of mine.