User Profile

I am a sensitive artist.
Nobody understands me because I am so deep.
In my work, I make allusions to books that nobody else has read,
Music that nobody else has heard,
And art that nobody else has seen.
I can't help it, because I am so much more intelligent and well-rounded
Than everyone else who surrounds me.
I stopped watching tv when I was six months old
Because it was so boring and stupid,
And started reading books,
And going to recitals and art galleries.
I don't go to art galleries anymore
Because there are people there,
And I can't deal with people,
Because they don't understand me.
I stay home, reading books that are beneath me,
And working on my work, which no one understands.
I am sensitive.

[ sensitive artist . king missile ]

Spell me the chimes. They are tales all tolled. Today is well thing but where's may tomorrow be. But, bless his cowly head and press his crankly hat, what a world's woe is each's other's weariness waiting to beadroll his own properer mistakes, the backslapping gladhander, free of his florid future and the other singing likeness, dirging a past of bloody altars, gale with a blost to him, dove without gall. And she, of the jilldaw's nest who tears up lettereens she never apposed a pen upon. Yet sung of love and the monster man. What's Hiccupper to hem or her to Hagaba? Ough, ough, brieve kindli!!

Dogs' vespers are anending. Vespertiliabitur. Goteshoppard quits his gabhard cloke to sate with Becchus. Zumbock! Achevre! Yet wind will be ere fadervor and the hour of fruminy and bergoo bell if Nippon have pearls or opals Eldorado, the daindy dish, the lecking out!

Come, smooth of my slate, to the beat of my blosh. With all these gelded ewes jilting about and the thrills and ills of laylock blossoms, there's so much more plants than chants for cecilies that I was thinking fairly killing times of putting an end to myself and my malody, when I remembered all your pupil-teacher's erringnesses in perfection class. You sh'undn't write you can't if you w'udn't pass for undevelopmented. This is the propper way to say that, Sr. If it's me chews to swallow all you saidn't you can eat my words for it as sure as there's a key in my kiss. Quick erit faciofacey. When we will conjugate together toloseher tomaster tomiss while morrow fans amare hour, verbe de vie and verve to vie, with love ay loved have I on my back spin and does for ever. Your are me severe? Then rue. My intended, Jr, who I'm throne away on, (here he inst, my lifstack, a newfolly likon) when I slip through my pettigo I'll ge my decree and take seidens when I'm not ploughed first by some Rolando the Lasso, and flaunt on the flimsyfilmsies for to grig my collage juniorees who, though they flush fuchsia, are the octette and viginity in my shade but always by figurants. They may be yea of my year but they're nary nay of my day. Wait till spring had sprung in spickness and prigs beg in to pry they'll be plentyprime of housepets to pimp and pamper my. Impending marriage. Nature tells everybody about but I learned all the runes of the gamest game ever from my old nourse Asa. A most adventuring trot is her and she vicking well knowed them all heartswise and fourwords. how, Olive d'Oyly and Winnie Carr, bejupers, they reized the dressing of a salandmon and how a peeper coster and a salt sailor med a mustied poet atwaimen. It most have bean Mad Mullans planted him. Bina de Bisse and Trestrine von Terrefin. Sago sound, rite go round, kill kackle, kook kettle and (remember all should I forget to) bolt the thor. Auden. Wasn't it just divining that dog of a dag in Skokholme as I sat astrid uppum their Drewitt's altar, as cooledas as culcumbre, slapping my straights till the sloping ruins, postillion, postallion, a swinge a swank, with you offering me clouts of illscents and them horners stagstruck on the leasward. Don't be of red, you blanching mench! This isabella I'm on knows the ruelles of the rut and she don't fear andy mandy. So sing loud, sweet cheeriot, like andegreon in heaven! The good fother with the twingling in his eye will always have cakes in his pocket to bethroat us with for our allmichael good. Amum. Amum. And Amum again. For tough troth is stronger than fortuitous fiction and it's the surplice money, oh my young friend and ah me sweet creature, what buys the bed while wits borrows the clothes.

Hello. My name is Finnegan.

How are you today?

[ subject of study :: NERO ]
[ test variable :: merii ]
[ original environment :: jrockroleplay ]
[ splinter sample :: neroni ]
[ new cellblock :: nihon_sei ]
[ the first, if not the original, flavour :: circa. July 24, 2004 ]

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