RoyalOrleans

If I were messing with you, you'd hear a ring at your front door and a flaming brown paper bag on the stoop. "Becuse I'm a head that way." Hehehe...

Why is snafu editing your posts?

How I Porked Your Mother.

Absolutely.

Writing a fukken book or something?

I'm 38 and my oldest brother is 54.

She doesn't say too much these days, mother has been dead for seven years now. Cervical cancer.

English, muthafukka! DO YOU SPEAK IT???

You are mom? Huh?

You should have that put on a t-shirt, you're hypocrite enough to wear it.

Announcing your thoughts is a good way to hear God laugh.

Maybe they'll buy soap instead of cigarettes.

Well, fukk my idea! I'm coming to your commune.

Mine has Chutes and Ladders, but not a board game in the commune.

Hotdog! Huh??? Sarcasm is so hard to convey over the internet.

I love this video. [ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXEePi7a2Pw&feature=related]YouTube - Lions vs. Donkeys[/ame]

Dammit! I was going to post this article! Anyways... yes! It is a step in the right direction.

Reparations, my niggah! Reparations!

My commune has go-go dancers. Do people still say go-go dancer? Hmmm.... Either way, everyone is allowed to come down and join in the festivities. Except wez and the Irish. Ok... the Irish can come.

I was kicked in the butt by love.

Hay would work for what? Horses?

"Life isn?t divided into genres. It?s a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel. You know, with a bit of pornography if you're lucky." - Alan Moore "Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night. Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It?s us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning it's illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach. Does that answer your questions, Doctor?" - Walter Kovacs "Rorschach" from Moore's Watchmen

Sheryl Crow looks eerily like Jim Morrison. -RO

He also has total recall of all things imaginary.

Doors albums make great pistol fodder. - RO