Violence Breeds Violence.


September 8, 2021 by sandwichcontrol

And silence breeds schmilence.

The word of the day is: Repair.

[ ri-pair ]
verb (used with object)
to restore to a good or sound condition after decay or damage; mend:
to repair a motor.
to restore or renew by any process of making good, strengthening, etc.:
to repair one’s health by resting.
to remedy; make good; make up for:
to repair damage; to repair a deficiency.
an act, process, or work of repairing:
to order the repair of a building.
Usually repairs.
an instance or operation of repairing:
to lay up a boat for repairs.
a repaired part or an addition made in repairing:
17th-century repairs in brick are conspicuous in parts of the medieval stonework.
repairs, (in bookkeeping, accounting, etc.) the part of maintenance expense that has been paid out to keep fixed assets in usable condition, as distinguished from amounts used for renewal or replacement.

Yesterday was a blur.

It was just one thing after another.

And list kept adding on.

Until I looked up and it was bedtime.

I kicked a lot of ass.

I took a lot of names.

I chewed a lot of bubble gum.

Cotton mouth is a bitch.

That reminds me.

I’m running low on hard candies.

I’ll pick some up on one of my inevitably many trips to one store or another.

But really though.

How can Aquaman talk to whales?

He can talk to fish.

Whales are mammals.

You could argue that most of the rest of the Justice League are also mammals.

You could also punch yourself in your stupid fucking face for saying some dumb shit like that.

My dog is a mammal and she can’t understand half the shit I say to her.

But then again, I’m not Aquaman.

Objection sustained.

But punch yourself in the face anyway.

On principle.

Today I’ll probably buckle down and work on this home tech stuff for one of my clients.

But just know that I’d rather be reading comics and working on next year’s photo project.

I do agree that it’s a bit early to start planning next year’s project.

Especially given that I haven’t finished planning this year’s project.

But, number one, fuck you.

And letter b, I don’t have to justify myself to any of you.

Like you come here looking for sound reason and logic.

You come hear to have a lunatic ramble at you about whatever nonsense is pouring out of the sewer he calls his mind and to look at the photos he takes of himself because that’s most artistic talent he can muster.

Believe me, I know the score.

I walk around with that guy in my head 24/7.

What can I say?

He just loves those mallowcream pumpkins.

They’re like little sugar pillows exploding between my molars.

See ya’ tomorrow.

More soon. ~SC


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