Ghostfooting

critical reading for the rude

bestest

I just had the best freakin birthday party of my life. Like better than when you’re 8 years old. Better than before The Challenger blew up. Better than when Marc Silvestri was doing X-Men down under. Better than when you turn 20-something and get drunk in the pub and dance stupid with nobody in particular to some Robbie Williams remix and go stagger off into the forest to talk to the trees and wake up in the dew without your socks or eyeglasses as the sun rises red on the snowy roots that brought no comfort as pillows: way better than anything that happened before. Better… the best.

In fact, it was the bestest.  Everyone was there.

Thanks ladies. Thanks very, very much.

🙂

And you, brother — there’s no more time for sackcloth!  We gather our ashes for soapmaking, for fertilizer, for paint!

Love,

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May 25, 2007 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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