The cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.
~~~~~~~daily dylan~~~~~~~~~~~~
ALL YOUR BASES ARE BELONG TO MIKE!
Move over Carlton Fisk, Mr. Piazza has just gone yard for the 352nd time as a catcher to claim the record as his own. Very cool. This season is starting to get interesting for the bastard children of New York baseball.
No updates lately, no visits to y'alls journals. So sollly. I'll rectify, soon as I get home for more than a couple of hours, and certainly be back with y'all for real after June 9th -- though just got word that there might be a mammoth post-hearing brief to reckon with. For fuck's sake the tribunal knows our arguments already, and they are going to hear our testimony. They'll know the goddamn case, this is getting ridiculous. Granted, it's an interesting case about baseball, but everything gets boring after a while. Like the old saying goes. For every beautiful woman, somewhere there's a man sick of her shit. You women go ahead and reverse that all equal oportunisticly. I'm sure for every stud hoss amongst us there's one of you folk tired of our sorry asses. Anyway, it is what it is, one of my exes was fond of saying, and she was right. For some reason, I'm kind of hitting a rhythm on these real long days. I'd rather work 18 hour days than 10 hour days.
Same way I'd rather gallop than canter. Just the way I'm built.
This is Trash.
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.
~~~~~~~daily dylan~~~~~~~~~~~~
ALL YOUR BASES ARE BELONG TO MIKE!
Move over Carlton Fisk, Mr. Piazza has just gone yard for the 352nd time as a catcher to claim the record as his own. Very cool. This season is starting to get interesting for the bastard children of New York baseball.
No updates lately, no visits to y'alls journals. So sollly. I'll rectify, soon as I get home for more than a couple of hours, and certainly be back with y'all for real after June 9th -- though just got word that there might be a mammoth post-hearing brief to reckon with. For fuck's sake the tribunal knows our arguments already, and they are going to hear our testimony. They'll know the goddamn case, this is getting ridiculous. Granted, it's an interesting case about baseball, but everything gets boring after a while. Like the old saying goes. For every beautiful woman, somewhere there's a man sick of her shit. You women go ahead and reverse that all equal oportunisticly. I'm sure for every stud hoss amongst us there's one of you folk tired of our sorry asses. Anyway, it is what it is, one of my exes was fond of saying, and she was right. For some reason, I'm kind of hitting a rhythm on these real long days. I'd rather work 18 hour days than 10 hour days.
Same way I'd rather gallop than canter. Just the way I'm built.
This is Trash.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
Quit working so much, Trash!
He will not decorate his bedroom with orange furniture and green shag carpeting...
my boy may know how to drive, but he sure is color blind.